


Dead Trouble

by MarcusRowland



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comic), Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen, Humor, Minor Character Death, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-22
Updated: 2007-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcusRowland/pseuds/MarcusRowland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A forgotten body causes a chapter of mistakes for Harry Potter and the Slayers. WARNING - DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS! BtVS S8 comic spoilers. Minor character death, mild bad language. Originally published July-August 2007</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Body in Question

**Author's Note:**

> This is a BTVS / Harry Potter crossover, set several years after _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, and four years post Chosen; WARNING - Contains some spoilers for Deathly Hallows. All characters belong to their respective creators and other people, not me; this story may not be distributed on a profit-making basis.

"What's this about?" asked Harry Potter as he entered Percy Weasley's office at the Ministry of Magic.

"There's a body..." said Percy.

"Oh Merlin… another one left over from Voldemort? Where did they find it? Epping Forest? Snowden?"

"It's at Gatwick Airport, in long term cargo storage."

"Voldemort's been dead nearly nine years. How the hell could it be there that long? Didn't anyone notice the smell?"

"Not everything has to do with Voldemort, Harry. Not directly, anyway. And they didn't notice the smell because it's embalmed and in a coffin with a couple of preservation spells on it."

"What's a wizard's body doing at a muggle airport?"

"It isn't a wizard, Harry. It's Dumbledore's great-great-grand niece, or something like that. She was a Muggle, so far as we know, or maybe a Squib. She died in America."

"Oh." Harry sat down.

"Apparently there weren't any closer living relatives, so someone must have contacted Dumbledore and arranged to have him take care of the burial. Unfortunately there was some hold-up at the Muggle end, I don't have the details, and Dumbledore was dead by the time the coffin arrived. That was about the time that Voldemort really stepped up the random killings and his witch-hunt for Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Whoever was supposed to be looking after it in the Ministry must have been killed or run off, and somehow the shipping container just got lost in the system, left in a locked warehouse with Muggle-repelling charms all over it. Some Aurors looking for a shipment of contraband carpets found it a couple of weeks ago. It's taken this long to trace the paperwork, and find out who it was and work out what to do with her."

"So where do I fit into all this?"

"Aberforth Dumbledore is her only other living relative, but you know what he's like, there's no way he can move around in Muggle society without attracting attention."

"Especially if he has his goats with him." Harry smiled at the thought. Aberforth was eccentric even by wizarding standards.

"You're one of the few Aurors who knows his way around Muggle society, and old Aberforth seems to like you. What the Ministry needs you to do is arrange to get the coffin transported to Scotland, then escort it on the last leg of the journey to Hogsmeade."

"Can't we just… you know… apparate it there, or Floo it, or get it to King's Cross and bring it up by the Hogwart's Express? Or do the whole journey in a wizarding hearse."

"All good ideas, but not really on, I'm afraid. The train would normally be best, but the line is out of action at the moment. The flooding last month damaged an embankment, and since it's hardly used at this time of year they've shut down for essential repairs for the next three weeks. I'm surprised you didn't know."

"I'd forgotten," said Harry. "It's months since I've needed to go to Hogsmeade. What about Flooing or Apparation?"

Percy steepeled his fingers. "Unfortunately there are too many spells on the coffin and body. Side-Apparation is always tricky, and with that much dead weight, if you'll excuse the expression, you could be splinched and end up with parts of your body nine years dead and embalmed. Flooing isn't quite as risky, but there's a chance that the coffin could just get lost in the network and pop out anywhere."

"By road then?"

"The only wizarding hearses in Scotland are drawn by Thestrals, they'll have Disillusionment Charms on them to stop Muggles noticing, but Gatwick is a little out of their range."

"So what's the plan?" asked Harry.

"We thought Muggle airy-plane from Gatwick to Edinburgh, you either fly with it or collect the coffin there, and escort it to Hogsmeade."

"Sounds straightforward enough, but I'd imagine it'll cost a few hundred pounds. You'd better give me all the details. What's her name, anyway?"

"The same as Dumbledore's mother. Kendra. Kendra Young."


	2. Mild Peril

Harry looked in the mirror, trying to spot any flaws in the illusion that would hide his scar and alter his appearance subtly for the next few hours, and adjusted his respectable red tie. Behind him Ginny said "Admiring yourself again?"

"Well, someone has to."

"You are so full of yourself." Ginny imitated a south London accent.

"And you're watching too much Doctor Who when we go round to the Dursleys."

"And you don't, 'Harry Tyler?'"

"There's sod all else to do there once we've shown them the latest batch of baby photos. Anyway, I've got to call myself something. This time of year with everyone on holiday I could run into witches or wizards almost anywhere, and I really don't want to explain a bunch of autograph hunters to Muggles if someone hears my name. Remember when that daft Australian witch spotted me in Trafalgar Square and wanted me to sign her 'I've seen the Short-Snouts of Kopparberg' T-shirt? In fluorescent green Singing Ink?"

"Fair point. Okay, show me your psychic paper."

Harry held up a Muggle passport, two credit cards, and an envelope containing shipping documents and his airline ticket, all perfectly genuine but bearing the Tyler name. The Ministry had a man in the Home Office who took care of the passports, Gringrotts were only too happy to arrange the credit cards on Muggle banks for a suitably large fee. "It's all here, honest." He tucked the cards into his wallet, covering his Auror's identification, added a sheaf of bank notes, and put a Muggle photograph of Ginny and the children over the usual animated picture.

"Shopping list?"

"Um… errr…" Harry pretended to be patting his pockets then produced the scroll from behind Ginny's ear with a flourish. "Soon as the funeral's over I'll do the rounds of Hogsmeade, get everything I can and order the rest."

"And you'll apparate home afterwards?"

"Or take the Knight Bus if there's too much to side-apparate."

"Right then." Ginny handed him a small case that he could carry as hand luggage. "I've packed a change of clothes and a formal black robe for the funeral, if you need more than that you can always Floo home once you're off the plane. And _don't_ try to apparate from the plane unless it's a real emergency, you know how dangerous that is."

"I know, love." Harry pulled her close and gave her a lingering kiss.

"Mmmm..." Ginny eventually broke free and dabbed the lipstick from his mouth, straightened his tie again, and said "Better head off, the flight's in three hours. Have you got a good arrival point at the airport?"

"I'm just apparating to the Auror's offices. No reason not to, I'm not undercover or anything, except from Muggles."

"Right then." She adjusted his tie again. "Make sure that your wand is out of sight."

"Right. See you Wednesday evening." He apparated out, leaving Ginny in the hall. In the living room, unnoticed, a clock hand labelled with an ornate 'H' swung from 'At Home' to 'Mild Peril.'

. . . . .

Having negotiated the perils of the Auror's office, the airport concourse, and the specialised air freight company that was arranging the shipment of the body, Harry eventually found himself queuing for the security check. With his wand concealed in his sleeve and some mild Muggle-repelling spells in place to prevent anyone taking too much interest in his clothing or his bag, he was reasonably safe from any embarrassing revelations. Immediately ahead of him a dozen teenage girls were waiting to go through the barrier, apparently led by an older red-headed woman Harry guessed was their teacher, who was arguing about something with one of the security officers. All of the girls had small backpacks and the usual assortment of shopping bags, handbags, and junk that needed to be checked. It seemed to take a ridiculous amount of time, and a girl half-way along the queue was juggling some brightly-coloured plastic balls, a little larger than ping-pong balls, one handed. Harry had nothing better to watch, and soon realised that there were seven balls in the air, all of them apparently under perfect control. It was an eye-catching performance, and Harry watched appreciatively for a couple of minutes before a thought crossed his mind. If he was watching this, what was he missing?

It took another minute for him to spot the trick. Concealed by three other girls, a fourth threw something over the barrier and past the search area, a distance of at least twenty-five or thirty feet. Presumably someone caught it on the far side, but Harry couldn't see past the queue. It happened three more times, then whatever problem was holding up the queue was resolved and people started moving forward again.

Harry followed, puzzled and not entirely sure what he'd seen, or what he should do about it. He hadn't had a chance to take a good look, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was that the girl had thrown looked a lot like short thick wands. Maybe they were trainee witches from one of the foreign schools, for some reason unable to conceal their wands magically as they went through the security check. It didn't feel quite right, somehow – the way that the wands had been thrown looked like sheer skill, not a spell. Maybe there was someone around who could detect magic, even the low-level power of a concealment charm, and the girls were trying to evade him. But none of them looked familiar, or matched the face of any of the wanted witches every Auror had to memorize as part of his job. So why were they throwing wands? And if they weren't wands, what were they? Tent pegs?

It took another three or four minutes for Harry's subconscious to finish processing what he'd seen, and he finally realised. Not tent pegs, not wands. They were too short and stubby. He looked around, but there were no other Aurors in view. Why should there be when the famous Harry Potter was going to be on the flight? He tried to think of a way to send a message, some sort of warning of trouble ahead, but this was supposed to be a routine job and he hadn't come prepared. Without an owl or Floo, and no way to perform a spell without being noticed in the crowded lounge, it was going to be impossible.

Maybe it was nothing, but why in Merlin's name did anyone want to smuggle stakes on a plane?


	3. Stakes on a Plane

Harry looked around the atrium that held the departure lounge and an assortment of shops and bars, and tried to work out what the girls were up to. After passing through security they'd split into twos and threes and seemed to be drifting through the crowd aimlessly. At least one girl in each group was using a mobile phone, and Harry had a feeling that their movements were anything but random. He went to the upper gallery and watched, to see if he could work out a pattern. Eventually he realised that sooner or later each group came close to a woman in her early twenties, an attractive but somehow dangerous-looking brunette wearing dark denims. He was reasonably sure that something changed hands as they passed; the stakes again? Had she been waiting inside to catch them when they were thrown? He wasn't a hundred percent sure that he was right, when it came down to it; whatever was going on was subtle enough that Muggle airport security didn't seem to have noticed. Or maybe they didn't _want_ to notice, Muggles sometimes seemed to have a curious reluctance to see what was in front of their eyes.

Harry could only think of one use for stakes – to kill vampires. But the idea of a Muggle girl killing a vampire was absurd. The aurors who took down the last of Voldemort's vampire followers had been specially trained experts; they'd suffered something like fifty percent casualties. It took two or three wizards to immobilize a vampire long enough for someone to stake it.

As he watched the girl with the juggling balls… no, it was _another_ girl… began to juggle again on one side of the lower hall, and two others nearby began a loud argument. More distraction? Across the hall the rest of the girls were slowly converging in a rough semicircle. Harry tried to estimate where they were headed, and finally spotted an anomaly at the focus of the semicircle; the only person he could see without any hand-luggage, a pale thin worried-looking man in an old-fashioned looking suit and bowler hat, who was moving away from them through the crowd. That was another anomaly; nobody wore hats these days. The red-headed woman was ahead of him, and the man turned away, almost running, towards the escalator leading to the upper gallery. At that moment Harry recognized him; Sanguini, Eldred Worple's vampire friend. He'd dropped out of sight a couple of months after Harry left Hogwarts, leaving Worple's drained corpse behind him, and was rumoured to have fought for Voldemort. Enough sunlight penetrated the departure lounge that he must be using a sun-repelling charm (and who would have cast it for him?), unless the windows had necro-tempered glass. Harry let his wand slide down his sleeve to his wrist, hoping to take Sanguini down, obliviate any witnesses and apparate out for help when he came a little closer.

A few yards from the escalator, as the arguing girls reached a crescendo of noise and the juggling girl lost control of her balls, which began to bounce around the hall, the dark-haired woman suddenly appeared in Sanguini's path, apparently taking him by surprise. Before Sanguini – or Harry – could react the woman seemed to blur into incredibly fast motion. A fraction of a second later Sanguini was crumbling to dust, and the woman stepped through the cloud and went back towards the arguing girls. Incredibly, nobody seemed to have noticed. All that was left was his bowler hat, which fell to the floor and rolled under a seat, and some grey dust on the floor.

Moments later the argument ended, apparently amicably, the juggling girl and a couple of her friends recovered the balls, and most of the girls converged on one of the airport concessions, a shop selling music and DVDs. The dark-haired woman and her red-headed friend met near the middle of the hall and talked for a moment, and both of them turned to look up at the gallery. For a moment, although nobody knew it, the clock in Harry's living room read "Extreme Danger." He looked out over the crowd, trying to disguise his interest. After a few seconds they seemed to dismiss him as harmless, and went off towards one of the coffee counters.

Harry tried to understand what he'd seen, but he was out of ideas. Nobody was that fast or strong, no wizards or witches and certainly no Muggles, and he was sure that he would have felt the magic if the woman had used spells to enhance her strength or speed. Of course she might not be human; there were creatures that fast out there, some of them capable of taking human form; a full-blooded Veela, for example, but although the brunette was attractive she didn't have a Veela's hypnotic beauty. Another vampire, perhaps; they had their factions and not all of them had supported Voldemort, maybe a rival group wanted revenge.

He rarely used telephones these days, but he did have a few numbers memorised. Needless to say the Ministry wasn't one of them, the concentration of magic there made phones impossible. But he did know someone who might be able to help, and had an office set up for contact with Muggles. He looked around, found a public phone, dialled, and waited for an answer.

_"Hello, you're through to Hermione Granger's office. Please leave a message after the beep."_

Damn. Oh well, nothing else for it. "Hello, this is Harry. Pick up if you're there. I've run into something odd at the airport. I've just seen a woman kill a vampire with her bare hands and a stake, no magic as far as I could tell. Can you research it for me? I'm not sure how it's possible. I'll try to call again in a couple of hours and... um... pick up if you're there." He waited until the phone beeped for more coins, but Hermione didn't pick up.

. . . . .

Harry found his way to his window seat, and strapped himself in. He hated flying in a plane, hated that he wasn't in control, hated all those weird slots and lumps that appeared in the wings as it took off and landed. He understood how magic worked, but aircraft just baffled him. And on a small airliner like this there was no place to sit where he couldn't see outside, and just how unnatural it all was.

As he was trying to find the Muggle detective novel he'd packed for the journey, the dark-haired woman from the airport sat down beside him, her arm only an inch or so from his wand, said "Hi," with an American accent, and dug into her own bag and pulled out a magazine. Harry glanced over, and was a little surprised to see that it was _Guns and Ammo._

The redhead appeared in the aisle and said "Okay, Kennedy, all of the girls are aboard."

"Thanks, Vi. I've called Dawn, let her know we're on time, the bus ought to be at the airport by the time we're through the terminal. Better go strap in." The redhead moved towards the front of the plane, and the brunette turned back to her magazine. Out of the corner of his eye Harry noticed her flip through the pages to an article on hunting crossbows. He decided to risk a little conversation.

"Going to Edinburgh for the festival?"

Without looking away from the magazine the brunette said "I'm gay, so you might as well skip the pickup lines."

"I'm happily married, and it wasn't a pickup line. But suit yourself."

Kennedy, if that was really her name, looked at him appraisingly then said "Sorry. Usually it saves a lot of time."

"No problem. As I was saying, are you going to the Edinburgh festival? I've heard that the Fringe is quite good this year."

"No, we're escorting a bunch of students for a summer athletics course. Might catch some shows at the weekend if my girlfriend's free. What about you?"

"I'm afraid I'm on my way to a funeral."

"I'm sorry… anyone close?"

"Not really. It's the grand-niece…" He skipped a few greats "…of my old headmaster. I never actually met her; I'm just helping with the arrangements."

"Oh. How old was she?"

"Haven't the foggiest. Like I said, I never met her, don't really know much about her, I'm just doing a favour for the family."

"Oh." That seemed to kill the conversation, and somehow he doubted that it would be a good idea to turn the topic round to vampires.

The speakers clicked and the stewardess began the usual "so this is it, we're all going to die" safety lecture. Harry listened carefully, mentally reviewed the sequence of spells that would get him out of the plane and down to the ground safely if there seemed to be no other way out, and tightened his seat belt.

As the plane accelerated down the runway and lifted into the sky Ginny's clock switched back to 'Mild Peril.' In London Hermione was in her office listening to her calls, and trying to remember why the idea of Muggles killing vampires rang a very faint bell. By the time the plane turned towards Edinburgh she was headed out to Diagon Alley. She had an idea that there was a book in Flourish and Blotts that might contain some clues.


	4. The Curse

Harry ate the last of the rubbery "Scottish breakfast" provided by the airline and mentally compared it to the substantial meals he'd eaten at Hogwarts; the airline food suffered badly by comparison.

"They don't give you much," said his seatmate, reaching the end of her magazine and her meal simultaneously.

"It's not that long a flight, I suppose," said Harry, "if it took much longer to eat they'd be snatching the trays back before we'd finished." A stewardess appeared and did exactly that. "See what I mean?"

"About another twenty minutes, it looks like we're on schedule." Kennedy checked her watch and glanced out of the window.

"You've flown this route before?"

"A few times."

"You must run a lot of these courses. What sort of athletics do you teach?"

Kennedy looked blank for a second, then said "A little of everything, really. We take a holistic approach to fitness; if the students train widely they exercise all of their muscle groups. The standard course includes track and field, rock climbing, some martial arts, gymnastics, and so forth."

It was the "so forth" that interested Harry, though he didn't say so. He had a feeling that it was the most interesting part of the course.

"Do you take boys too?" Harry asked. "In a few years my sons might be interested."

"Sure, but we're pretty selective about who we take. How many boys do you have?"

"Two so far," said Harry, pulling out his wallet and showing her the photo. "That's my wife Ginny, and the babies are Al and James. We're hoping for a girl next time."

"Awww… They're pretty cute. My girlfriend and I would like to have kids too; we'll probably get married if we stay in Britain, it isn't legal most places in the States. After that I'm not sure if we'll adopt or find a sperm donor."

"I'm afraid I don't know much about either," said Harry. Somehow he doubted that his experiences with the Dursleys would be very relevant, and Teddy Lupin's adoption by Andromeda Tonks had been handled by Wizarding law, not Muggle.

"It's not exactly a pressing problem." She opened the magazine again, turning back to an article on knives.

"I couldn't help noticing your magazine. Are you a hunter?"

"Not with guns, but I've used a bow a few times. How about you?"

Harry grinned. "It's not really my cup of tea. As far as I'm concerned, if I have to hunt my food past the supermarket it's too much like hard work. But my school had a teacher who was really into it and we got to be friends, so I know a little about it."

"What did he hunt?"

That was an awkward one. Most of the creatures Hagrid killed weren't easily explained to Muggles. "Just the usual stuff, animals that damaged the school gardens and so forth."

"Like squirrels and rabbits?"

"Yes, that sort of thing."

There was a chime, and the stewardess announced that everyone should fasten their seatbelts and prepare for the landing. Kennedy dropped the magazine back into her bag, raised the table flap in front of her, and strapped in. Harry followed her example. The engine noise rose as the airliner prepared to land, and they didn't talk again until the plane was safely on the ground.

As they were preparing to disembark Kennedy rummaged in her bag and pulled out a notebook, and jotted a few lines onto a piece of paper.

"It's really none of my business," she began awkwardly, "but my sister had an odd birthmark, this guy used some laser treatment to get rid of it. He might be able to help you with that…" she gestured towards his head, and went off down the aisle while he was trying to work out what she meant

She'd written the address of a clinic in New York. But what had she been…? Harry suddenly realised that she meant his scar. But his scar was covered by the illusion he was wearing, he could still feel it around him, there was no way that she should be able to see it. "Definitely something weird there," he muttered.

. . . . .

"Hello Hermione, pick up if you're there."

_"This call is being forwarded to Hermione Granger's mobile phone. This call is being…"_ There was a loud beep, then Hermione said "Hello?"

"It's Harry, got anything for me?"

"Possibly; how old was the woman you saw?"

"About twenty-one, twenty-two, I think."

"That's pretty old."

"Old?"

"Did you ever hear of the 'Curse of the Slayer?'"

"The Curse of _what?_ I don't remember it from Defence classes."

"It's not very well documented, and it would have been in History of Magic, not Defence. It's a really strange curse, only affects Muggle girls. A teenage girl wakes up incredibly strong and fast, and she thinks it's really great at first, but it's really a curse. Monsters start attacking her – vampires, sometimes werewolves, all sorts of horrible creatures. She has to keep fighting them until she dies. Usually they last a year or two at most. There have been occasional cases since at least ancient Greece. There's a vampire on record as saying that the victims smell delicious, and that their blood is unusually potent."

"That's horrible. Isn't there a cure?"

"Nobody's ever heard of one, and there are records of dozens of cases, the last one in China around 1900. About all that anyone can do is stay out of their way, because the creatures that come after them are just as happy to kill anyone else in the line of fire. But twenty-two is pretty old; she'd have to have been fighting for three or four years at least."

"Well, I definitely saw her kill a vampire. And there was something odd about the whole thing if it's that curse – she had some other girls with her and they were all armed with stakes." He remembered the way that the stakes had been thrown over the security zone. "And at least one of the others seemed to be abnormally strong."

"That's just impossible. There's never more than one victim at a time."

"Oh, I nearly forgot. She saw right through the illusion that covers my scar. I don't think she even knew the illusion was there."

"That makes no sense at all. It must be something else, not the Curse. Could they be Veelas, or some other magical creature in disguise?"

"Maybe, but I didn't sense any magic to speak of from any of them."

"Where are they now?"

Harry looked around the arrivals hall at the airport. "They must be collecting their baggage by now."

"See if you can find out anything else, like an address. Modern wizards would love to study a case of the Curse, if that's what it is."

"I'll do my best. Call you back later." Harry hurried to the baggage hall, but there was no sign of the girls. They must have gone on their way. Hermione would be disappointed, and he'd have to submit endless reports explaining why he hadn't followed up on the case. After all, not all vampires were hostile; there were orders to stake Sanguini on sight, but what if the Curse made Kennedy kill one unnecessarily?

It would have to wait. By now the coffin should be ready for collection. He'd have to go and sign for it, and see it loaded aboard the Muggle van that was going to take it to a local undertaker's premises; there the body would be transferred from its sealed metal casing to a proper wooden casket for the last leg of its journey to Hogsmeade.

. . . . .

As Harry supervised the men loading the coffin he felt an uneasy itch, an odd feeling of being watched. He tried to look around without making it obvious. About fifty yards away the group of girls he'd been discussing were standing around a small battered-looking bus, loading their bags into the luggage compartment. Vi and Kennedy were both staring at him… no, at the case… and seemed to be discussing something. He had a sudden feeling that it would be a good idea to get out of there fast, and asked the driver if he could hitch a ride.

"It's not exactly regulation, but aye, I can do it. If you would'nae mind shutting the rear doors, we'll be on our way."

Harry went back and did as he asked, and took another look towards the bus as he did so, Vi and Kennedy and at least half of the other girls were still watching. As he shut the doors and got into the passenger's seat he wondered what they could have possibly seen to attract so much attention. About all there was at the end of the box was the original shipping label, and what was so odd about something coming from Sunnydale, California? He couldn't imagine that they could even read it at that distance.

As the van drove off two of the girls took photographs. For the life of him Harry couldn't imagine why.


	5. Scandal

Founded during the First World War, Lloyd's Funeral Services was an undertakers firm much like any other, based in slightly shabby premises near Holyrood Park. For the most part their customers were Muggles, but the company was owned by Mervyn Lloyd, a Welsh wizard whose grandfather had had the wit to realise how useful magic could be in the business. No matter how mangled a corpse, careful charms and transfiguration, and as a last resort outright illusion, could preserve and beautify it, and restore the outward appearance of health. A small proportion of their business came from Edinburgh's Wizarding community and transients like Harry. They didn't handle traditional Wizarding funerals, which were still a speciality of the undertakers from Hogsmeade, but they were ready to do anything else that was necessary for their clients.

"How long do you think this will take?" Harry asked, once the travelling casket was safely in their workshop, ready to be opened.

"At least an hour," said Mervyn, a wiry man in his fifties. "No telling how badly the body's been damaged in nine years, not until we open the transit coffin. Hopefully the Muggles will have embalmed it reasonably well, and the spells the Ministry put on it when it arrived should have helped too, but there's bound to be some deterioration. Don't worry; the hearse isn't due here until four – that ought to be enough time."

"Can you do anything about it if it's damaged?"

"I popped up to Hogsmeade at the weekend, old Aberforth gave me a Muggle photo, if the body isn't too far gone there shouldn't be a problem. Bit of a surprise, I can tell you."

"How come?"

"See for yourself." Mervyn gave Harry a glossy colour picture.

"Merlin, she's so young. And… um…"

"Black? Yes, bit of a scandal there. It was their dad, of course. What was his name? Percival? Alberforth wasn't too forthcoming with the details, but I've heard gossip, stuff Rita Skeeter missed. The way I understand it, his dad travelled in his youth, met two sisters in Trinidad, or maybe it was Jamaica, slaves escaped from America. They were what they used to call Octaroons, an eighth black with some native American blood. The original Kendra was a Muggle-born witch, the only one in the family. Her sister Rona was a real beauty, even prettier than her, but just a Muggle."

Harry knew all too well how much trouble something like that could cause in a family.

Mervyn sucked in through his teeth. "Thing is, the randy bugger courted both of them. Of course he ended up married to Kendra, and got ready to bring her back to Britain. The fly in the ointment was that Rona was pregnant, and Percival was the father. There was no way he could acknowledge the child; it was bad enough that he'd married a Muggle-born witch, any hint of a scandal beyond that and he would have been disinherited. So he saw to it that Rona was well set up, gave her a couple of hundred guineas which was a respectable fortune in those days, and buggered off sharpish. So Albus and Aberforth had an older half-sister they didn't know about, out in foreign parts. After their parents were dead old Albus went through their papers and found out about it somehow, and got in touch with the family, but by then Rona was dead, and so was the half-sister. But he stayed in touch with her children and grandchildren and so forth, gave them a little help from time to time. At the end of it all this girl was an orphan, and Albus was the only living relative anyone could trace when she died."

"Merlin! You think you know all about someone…"

"Old Albus was full of surprises. Anyway, let's get on with it." Mervyn got out a Muggle electric screwdriver and some other tools, then reached into a pocket for his wand. "Let's see now… _Alohomora_" He tapped one of the fastenings with his wand, and it popped open, the seals and screws dropping to the bench. "That's good, looks like they didn't protect it from being opened. I shouldn't need the tools. You might want to go into the waiting room until I've checked on things, it might not be very nice."

"I've seen bodies before."

"I'm sure you have, sir, but it's never pleasant. _Alohomora._" Another fastening opened.

"Um…" Harry remembered that he needed to report to the Ministry. "Actually, if you have a Floo connection I should really have a word with my boss."

"Sorry, there's some Muggles in viewing room three, and that's the only fireplace. _Alohomora_."

"Perhaps later?"

"Not for the next few hours. _Alohomora._ It's a big family with lots of relatives and friends, there'll be people in and out of there until we close. _Alohomora._"

"How about a telephone?"

"_Alohomora_. On the wall there." Mervyn gestured towards a section of wall covered with Muggle posters about health and safety, biohazards, and the precautions to be taken while handling bodies. The phone was half-covered by a calendar; the illustrations a range of expensive-looking coffins accompanied by grieving widows with implausible figures.

"Thanks." He dialled Hermione again, got her answering machine again with no hint of call forwarding, and after some thought punched in another number. Behind him Mervyn carried on opening the casket.

"Hello, Grunning's Drills."

"Extension 436 please… Hello, Dudley, this is Harry. I need a bit of a favour."

After Voldemort's defeat the Ministry of Magic had reinserted the Dursleys into their old lives, and made sure that they hadn't lost out too badly by their enforced absence. In a stunning display of nepotism Dudley had been appointed as Grunnings' transport manager as soon as he left university. Astonishingly, he was reasonably competent, though his secretary did most of the routine work.

"What sort of favour?" asked a suspicious voice.

"Are you still friends with whats-his-name, Piers? Am I right to think he works for the Ministry of Education, or whatever they call it these days?"

"It's the DFES. What about him?"

"I'm in Edinburgh, and I need to find out the name and address of a school somewhere in this area. About all I know is that it's some sort of athletics school for teenagers, and that they use a green bus that would seat about twenty people. All I could see of the name of the place was the letters 'rial' followed by 'School,' there was a car in front of the rest. I know it isn't a lot to go on, but there must be some sort of register of schools, on a computer or something, maybe he could narrow it down for me."

"He'll want a bottle of Scotch for that. A crate if he knows that you're the one that's asking."

"I'm sure that you can think of a plausible reason for wanting to know."

"Mmmm… yes, I probably can. Okay, if you're in Edinburgh you can bring me back a good bottle of Scotch for him. And I'll want one too."

"Done. I probably won't be near a phone for the next couple of days, but I'll call when I can."

"I can hardly wait." The phone clicked, and Harry grinned. He'd have to do something nice for Dudley, although his cousin would probably be insanely suspicious if he did. Maybe get him a haggis or two to go with the Scotch? Something non-magical anyway, that was always a given with Dudley.

"That's odd," said Mervyn.

"How does she look?" Harry realised that there was a sudden chemical odour in the air.

"Pretty well preserved, on the whole; you can look if you like, it isn't at all bad."

"So what's so odd?" asked Harry, turning round.

"This," said Mervyn, gesturing towards the body, which was dressed in a simple white dress, hands clasped on a silver cross. As Mervyn had said, her condition wasn't too bad considering the time since she had died. The face looked a little sunken, the skin a little yellowed by the preserving chemicals. Mervyn lifted her hair and cautiously tilted her head back a little, revealing a line of stitches across her throat. "That wouldn't be part of the embalming process, you can see here and here where they put in the needles for that." He pointed at dark indentations below the line of stitches. "And those stitches are too coarse for a Muggle doctor. I think someone cut her throat."

"I wonder if Albus knew."

"No idea. Aberforth didn't say anything if he did. It's going to be a bit difficult finding out now."

"There must be records somewhere."

"Wouldn't the Ministry have told you if they knew?" asked Mervyn.

"I suppose the records must have been lost when the Death Eaters were running the Ministry. Maybe it can be traced from the Muggle end in America."

"Good luck with that. Didn't you notice the shipping address?"

"Somewhere in California. Sunnydale?"

"Exactly. Remember about four years ago, a town that collapsed into caves?"

"Sunnydale?"

"Exactly."

"Bugger."


	6. Perfectly Normal Paranoia

"Right, Auror Potter…" Mervyn stepped back from the coffin. "She's looking pretty good, though I say so myself."

"That's amazing," said Harry, "she looks like she's just gone to sleep." He wasn't exaggerating. The sunken look, chemical smell and yellowness were gone, now the skin was firm and the complexion identical to the photograph.

"It's not going to last as long as the original embalming or the preservation spell that was used on her at Gatwick. Once she's buried, things will start to break down."

"Why's that?"

"So she'll return to the ground naturally, earth to earth and all that. It's a legal requirement; it's even part of the Statute of Secrecy. There are all sorts of reasons why you don't want unchanging bodies lying about the place. It clutters up the cemeteries, and there's at least one French Saint that was originally a wizard whose body was preserved that way and fell into Muggle hands."

"Why didn't they just obliviate the people who found it?"

"Because about ten thousand pilgrims had already seen it by the time their Aurors heard about it. It was simpler to lift the preservation spell and put on a little makeup so that it looked like someone had messed about with the body to make it look unchanging."

"Right."

"I haven't done anything with the wound yet. Before I do, did you say you wanted photos?"

"I'd better take a couple," said Harry. "I doubt that the Ministry will do much about it after all this time, but if there is some sort of investigation photos might help. Do you have a camera I can use?"

"Only a muggle one, I've run out of film for the Spellflex. That okay?"

"She's not going to be moving so it doesn't really make much difference, I suppose."

"I'll just get it. Can't keep it in here, my spells would eventually play hob with the electronics." Mervyn went out, and came back a couple of minutes later with a big Nikon. "Bloody Muggles, they've got no respect."

"What's wrong?"

"It's the Festival, isn't it? If it isn't mimes it's street theatre, and if it isn't street theatre it's conjurors and jugglers, right outside our doors." He was talking to Harry's back by the time he said the last words, as Harry went through to one of the front rooms and peeped out between the blinds. There were jugglers out there all right; two girls. He was sure that he recognised one of them from the plane. He couldn't see Vi or Kennedy, but he had a feeling that they were out there somewhere.

"Is there a problem?"

"I don't know, but there were some women who seemed to be taking an odd interest in the original coffin when we were loading it, and I think they may have followed us from the airport, or traced the van here. Oh bloody hell… can you get in touch with the hearse? The one from Hogsmeade?"

"Not until it gets here. Be about half an hour. Why?"

"One of the women seemed to be able to see through illusions. If I'm right and she's out there somewhere, she'll see the thestrals as they really are, not as horses."

"Most people can't see thestrals at all, without the illusion it would look like nothing was drawing the carriage."

"Anyone who's seen someone die can see a thestral, and I know that she's seen someone die." Harry wasn't entirely sure that killing Sanguini counted as seeing a death, but it seemed likely.

"You'll have to obliviate them then."

"There could be a dozen of them, and if I'm right they're watching all of the approaches to this building."

"If you don't mind me saying so, that's a bit paranoid."

"I think I'm entitled to a little paranoia, don't you?"

"I'll grant you that, Mister Potter. On the whole, I can't think of anyone more entitled to be paranoid. So what do you want to do?" Mervyn led the way back to the workshop.

"Is your driver still around?"

"Duncan? He's out at the back cleaning the van."

"Okay – would he be willing to help with a diversion?"

"Tell him it's official Auror business and slip him twenty quid and he will. He's a Squib, but his heart's in the right place. But if there's any damage to the van or injury to him I'll want full compensation from the Ministry."

"Okay… now here's my plan…"

. . . . .

Ten minutes before the hearse was due to arrive Harry came down from the upper floor offices with a hastily drawn sketch of the street behind the building. Mervyn and Duncan were waiting for him.

"Okay." Harry pointed to some blobs on the map, to the right of the gates. "There are three women here, here, and here. The one in the middle is Kennedy, I think she's giving the orders. This big oblong here to the left is their bus, it's parked with the front pointing off to the left. I couldn't see much from that angle but I think it's got three or four people inside. What I want you to do is drive off past the bus, fast enough that the women on foot don't catch up with you, but slow enough that they can get after you in the bus. After that keep driving, if possible try to avoid getting stopped at traffic lights and so forth for as long as possible. If they catch up to you and ask any questions, you're just taking the transit coffin back to the airport. But give us as long as possible."

"If you actually get to the airport," said Mervyn, "call in at the British Airways cargo counter and ask for the deposit back, same as usual."

"Aye," said Duncan. "And can I say what an honour it is to be doing this for you, Auror Potter?"

"Um... Thanks," said Harry. "I hope that this won't be dangerous, but please be careful. We don't want any accidents."

"Have no fear," said Duncan. "It won't be the first time I've had to help with a wee diversion. Why, I well remember in ninety-seven…"

"No time for war stories now," Mervyn said hastily.

"We'd better get started," said Harry. "Okay, as soon as you're ready to go flash your lights and we'll open the gates. After that, just keep going, and pay no attention to anything going on behind you."

A minute later the van was on its way. Standing behind the gate, and hopefully unseen by anyone in the street, Harry pointed his wand at the van and murmured _"Alohomora."_ As it swerved to avoid a girl standing near the bus, one Harry hadn't spotted, one of the rear doors flew open, revealing the transit coffin in the back of the van, the Sunnydale label clearly visible. A few seconds later, as they were closing the gates, they heard a diesel engine starting. Harry ran back upstairs, and saw the bus pulling out in pursuit. He watched for a couple of minutes, but there didn't seem to be anyone left watching the rear gates. The front of the building was still being watched by the jugglers. Harry went back down. "I think it's clear for a few minutes. How quickly can we load the coffin when the hearse gets here?"

"A couple of minutes to get it in, a couple more to strap it down," said Mervyn, "but the thestrals will want a drink and a feed, and that takes a few minutes."

"Okay. If Duncan can stay ahead for ten or fifteen minutes that ought to do it."

There was a clatter of hooves outside, and Harry and Mervyn swung the gates open again.

The hearse was a Victorian-looking black carriage with brass lamps and a glass-sided compartment for the coffin. It was apparently drawn by two grey mares, and Harry had to squint to see through the Disillusionment Charm and see the thestrals as they really were. Theoretically a Muggle would see nothing unusual. Harry was hoping that in Kennedy's case that wouldn't be put to the test.

"Mister Potter?" said the driver, climbing down. On Harry's nod he added "Nice disguise; I wouldn't have known you if I hadn't recognized the wand."

"Mister Bury, I'm afraid that we're going to have to get out of here quickly, there's trouble. If you can get the thestrals fed as fast as you can, we'll get the coffin loaded."

"Right you are." He opened a compartment in the side of the carriage and pulled out a cooler box, and began to feed the thestrals bloody chunks of beef. "So what's the problem?"

"Some Muggles seem to be following me for some reason, and I think that they might be dangerous."

"Muggles? Dangerous?"

"These aren't ordinary Muggles. I'm not sure what they are, to be honest. There's a couple watching the front, we've drawn off the ones at the back but they'll probably be back in fifteen minutes or so."

Mervyn came out from the workshop, levitating the coffin towards the hearse, and Harry helped him guide it in, then took over feeding and watering the thestrals while Bury strapped the coffin down in the hearse. One of the thestrals nuzzled his hand, leaving bloody drool behind; they seemed to accept him, and Harry guessed that they came from the herd that Hagrid managed at Hogwarts; he'd probably fed them when they were colts. Bury came back, levitating buckets of water, and gave him a scrap of towel to wipe his hands. "Shouldn't be long now." One of the thestrals snorted and belched loudly.

"There's two more girls out the back," said Mervyn. "I've never seen them before, and they seem to be taking a bit of an interest in the gates."

"We're running out of time," said Harry.

"Calm down," said Bury, putting away the cooler box and producing a long black coat. "Try this for size." Harry pulled on the coat, found it a little too long, and hastily adjusted it with his wand. "Not bad. Now put this on…" he gave Harry a blonde wig, which more or less fitted him, with a fringe that covered his forehead; "and this…" a shiny top hat; "and these…" Dark sunglasses, and a pair of white gloves. Harry felt ridiculous, but there was no denying that between them they altered his appearance beyond easy recognition. Bury pulled on his own coat, hat, and gloves, and said "Right then… _ Orchideous_" The coffin was suddenly surrounded by tasteful bunches of flowers.

"You've done this before," said Harry.

"Smuggling muggle-born witches and wizards past the Snatchers back in ninety-seven," said Bury. "There was no shortage of bodies to be moved in those days, and nobody really noticed who was moving them. Now, just climb up onto the seat and look nicely solemn. As a last resort, if anyone tries to stop us, Confound them or something. Don't do anything that'll leave evidence, we don't want to give Mervyn trouble. Oh, and I'm calling you Brian from now on."

"Okay." Harry climbed up, and Bury added "That lever's the brake, be ready to pull it when I say so."

Mervyn swung the gates open and Bury took the reins and led the thestrals out, saying "Right, we meet up with the mourners on Queen Street then it's straight on to the Cathedral. Brakes, Brian." Harry pulled the lever, and held it back as Bury climbed up. The girls were a little way down the street and seemed to be watching with interest, but weren't trying to stop them. It seemed that they didn't notice anything too unusual about the hearse. "Brakes off, Brian."

The hearse started to roll forward, the thestrals moving at a steady walk that took the hearse forward at four or five miles an hour. "Can't we go any faster than this?" Harry muttered.

"Not unless we have to," said Bury, skilfully taking the first corner. "This is the speed a hearse is supposed to move, if we take it nice and gentle nobody will notice anything odd. Anything faster than this is disrespectful while people are watching."

"Then it'll take… Merlin, about twenty hours to get to Hogsmeade."

"Ah well… once we're out of town a bit I daresay we'll make better time."

"Which way are we going?"

"North, of course; once we're across the Forth Bridge we can get off the main roads, after that I'll show you what this thing can really do."

With agonising slowness the hearse rolled away from the undertakers, through several sets of traffic lights that obligingly changed to green in its path, and on towards the bridge. Harry was beginning to feel a lot better about things when he noticed a road sign ahead, indicating that they were heading towards the airport.

"The people who are after us may be heading back along this road," said Harry. "At this rate there's no way they'll miss us."

"What do you think this is, the Knight Bus? I can't just speed through traffic without anyone noticing."

As Bury was talking Harry noticed a small green bus coming towards them, and hunched down in his seat and prayed that it wasn't the women, and that if it was the spell would continue to conceal the thestrals. His prayers weren't answered; a few seconds after it passed he heard a squeal of brakes, and glanced back to see the bus starting a cumbersome U-turn to follow them.

"Shit! They've spotted us!"

"Language, mister Potter. Remember that we're on a solemn journey here."

"A solemn journey that's about to become a punch-up if we don't get away from here pretty fast."

"All right then," said Bury. "If you can slow them down a bit, I'll see what I can do."

Behind them the bus was still making its turn, with traffic backed up in both directions. Harry carefully sighted on one of the rear wheels. _"Glisseo!"_ Deprived of friction, the wheel began to spin furiously, and the bus faltered in its turn and stopped. He repeated the spell on the front wheels, for the next couple of minutes the bus would be impossible to steer. "That won't hold for long. Now, can you get us out of here?"

"Brake lever all the way forward, please."

Harry pushed the lever forward to its original position, then further until it clicked, as Bury flicked the reins and the thestrals began to trot. Suddenly the hearse was accelerating smoothly, and Harry guessed the speed was up to fifteen or twenty miles an hour. "Better, but they'll catch up eventually."

"I know," Bury said calmly. "Now push the lever forward again and twist the top clockwise. Clockwise, mind." Harry did as he was told, and with a series of cracks and whirrs bat-like wings emerged from under the carriage and folded out to either side. Bury was chanting an invisibility charm, one that didn't need any wand action, and gestured for Harry to take over as he flicked the reins again. The thestrals were galloping, faster and faster as they unfurled their own wings. "Hold on to your hat!" Harry clapped his free hand to his hat, and held on tightly to his wand with the other. He could feel something pressing him down onto the seat, and guessed that a modified cushioning charm was acting as a safety belt.

With a last flick of the reins the thestrals were dragging the wagon into the sky, its own wings flapping in time with theirs, and heading North, about a hundred and fifty feet up.

"We'll have to land once we've crossed the Forth," said Bury, "The thestrals willnae' take it much longer."

Harry grimly kept the invisibility charm going, prayed that they wouldn't run into anything as they crossed the airport flight path, and gloomily wondered how he was going to explain this to Percy when he reported back to the Ministry.


	7. Muggle Madwomen

Despite Bury's gloomy prediction the hearse flew on for another ten miles or so after crossing the Firth of Forth. Eventually he pointed down to the left; "That road below looks clear, and the thestrals are starting to tire, I'm going to take us down. As soon as the wheels touch the road twist the top of the brake lever anti-clockwise then slowly pull it back. Don't make us visible until you're sure nobody is watching." He did something complicated with the reins and they started to descend.

The road was narrow and not particularly straight, and Harry's heart was in his mouth as they swooped down. Twice they had to pull up at the last minute, to avoid an oncoming truck and overhead power lines. Eventually, as the wing-beats of the thestrals were visibly slowing, the wheels finally touched the road, and the hearse began to slew from side to side, with the thestrals still flying rather than running, bouncing noisily and shaking its passengers. Harry twisted the lever frantically and the wings stopped flapping and retracted under the hearse. The extra drag seemed to remind the thestrals that they were supposed to be on the ground, and they landed at the gallop, folding their wings.

"Brakes!" shouted Bury, and Harry belatedly remembered to start pulling the lever back. They began to slow to something more plausible for a horse-drawn vehicle, a brisk trot. "All right, make us visible then push the brake lever forward a little."

Harry stopped chanting and the spell ended. Without it the illusion covering the thestrals was restored, and they looked like horses again. They began to rattle along at about ten miles an hour.

"That was amazing," said Harry. "But why can't we fly the whole way?"

"Too much drag," said Bury. "It's strictly for emergencies, and it tires the thestrals out, as you can see. They'll have to stay down for a few hours before we can even think of doing that again."

"I suppose so," said Harry. "Anyway, that has to have got rid of them now, there's no way that they could follow us."

"You had to say that, didn't you? I would have thought that if anyone would know better by now... Maybe that would shake off Muggles, but for all you know they've got a witch or a wizard helping them."

"Sod it! I've jinxed us, haven't I? Sorry."

"Keep your eyes open for somewhere we can get off this road to feed the thestrals, while I check the map. We're heading in roughly the right direction, I think, but for all I know this road's a dead end. Yell out if you see any road signs."

To Harry's alarm Bury switched most of his attention to a road map he pulled out of a pocket, leaving the thestrals and wagon to guide themselves, the reins slack in his hand. But it was a warm summer's afternoon, birds were singing, the thestrals seemed to know what they were doing, and for the first time since he'd got off the plane Harry was able to relax a little. Twice they were passed by cars whose occupants seemed to see nothing odd in a hearse on a quiet country road. "Do you drive round here a lot?"

"Not since the war. Why?"

"Nobody seems to be paying us much attention."

"There's a curiosity-damping spell on the hearse. It doesn't work very well if someone's actually looking for us, but if they're not, they won't think that there's anything odd about us. Can't hide us completely, of course, or people would be running into us all the time."

"That might explain why the people in the bus noticed us," said Harry, "If someone used a phone to call them and warn them about us."

"I suppose," said Bury, looking at a compass that seemed to have a couple of extra dials, tapping it, and checking the map again. "But wouldn't the phone wires have to be awfully long? Anyway, this road will do us for the next few miles. There's an old ruined church a little further on, if it's the one I'm thinking of there's a horse trough there and some room for cars to park. We ought to be able to feed the thestrals."

"Okay. Once we've stopped I'll have to report in to the Ministry. I didn't think to bring an owl or any of my usual equipment, so I'll have to apparate to the Auror offices in Glasgow and report from there. It should only take a few minutes."

"Well, don't take too long about it, if you're really being chased by mad Muggle women I'll want your help fending them off; unless they're particularly attractive, of course." Bury didn't crack a smile as he said it, and Harry wondered if he was serious. He was reasonably sure Bury had a wife and children.

Ten minutes later they rolled off the road onto a gravel-topped parking area, watched incuriously by a Muggle family who were picnicking behind a green Range-Rover, and seemed to be more interested in their food than the new arrival. Bury checked the horse trough and found it dry, and Harry quietly cast _Aguamenti_ to fill it with water, with his back turned to conceal his wand from Muggle view. As Bury led the thestrals to drink Harry walked off a little way, until he was concealed by bushes, and apparated out.

. . . . .

"So that's the situation," Harry said a few minutes later, using the Auror's Floo to talk to Percy, "Hermione has this weird idea about the Curse of the Slayer, and I don't have a better explanation, or any idea why they should be interested in me."

"Damned if I know," said Percy. "But Hermione is probably your best bet. Do you want me to send you some help? Would you like a few more Aurors to help guard the coffin?"

"Definitely not," said Harry, "I think our best bet is to keep things quiet. Whatever's going on here, the last thing we need is a procession. I haven't seen any sign that they've got a wizard helping them…" He didn't mention Bury's reservations, since there was no evidence "…and there's no reason why they should think we're heading the way we are, so we should just press on. What I'd like you to do is get Ginny to send Henrietta out to me with my travelling bag, the kit I use when I'm on a case. And warn her I'll probably need to keep her with me until after the funeral."

"About Ginny," said Percy. "She's Floo'd me twice this afternoon, she's been very worried. According to your clock you've been in Mild Peril most of the day, and Extreme Peril three times this afternoon."

"Oh bugger, I wish Molly had never given us that bloody thing. All it does is make people worry."

"Try telling Mum that."

"Not likely! Okay, if I talk to her she'll just get more upset. Tell her I've had to dash back to baby-sit the coffin, and give her my love, but don't forget to tell her about the travelling bag. And get her to talk to Hermione, maybe between them they can come up with some answers."

. . . . .

Harry apparated back, half expecting to find Bury under siege by Muggle madwomen, but nothing much had changed. The thestrals were eating from nose-bags, and the picnickers were finishing their meal and starting to pack the Range-Rover. Bury was tucking in to a large pork pie and a can of Muggle beer, and Harry suddenly realised that he hadn't eaten any lunch. "Don't suppose you've got any more of those?"

"Of course not," said Bury. "Why would I possibly think of carrying a bit of grub for my passenger when the alternative is travelling eighty-odd miles listening to his bloody stomach rumbling? What do you want, a pork pie, steak and kidney, or a cheese and pumpkin pasty?"

"Steak and kidney sounds good."

Bury fished into a compartment under the seat Harry had been using and handed him a piping hot steak and kidney pie, wrapped in a linen serviette. "Fresh made in Hogsmeade this morning. Do you want beer, butterbeer, or cider?"

"I'd better keep my head clear," said Harry, "Butterbeer will be fine."

"Suit yourself." He handed Harry a screw-capped bottle. "The thestrals are nearly finished so tuck in; it's not dark until about eight-thirty, and I want to get a move on. Oh, and what happened to your wig?"

Harry put the pie and bottle down on the foot-rest, took off the top hat, and pulled out the wig. "It was making my head itch, and if they can find us out here I don't think a wig's going to do much good."

"Fair enough." Bury tucked it away. "But keep the hat on, got to show some respect."

"Okay. Do you think we'll reach Hogsmeade tonight?"

"Not a hope, but some friends have a farm about forty miles on, we can stop there for the night, finish the journey in the morning."

. . . . .

At about seven, ten miles or so from the farm, Harry thought he noticed something moving out of the corner of his eye. He looked round, but all he could see was a field of bright yellow flowers, waving gently in the breeze. He looked ahead again, and again had the impression of a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye, not just the breeze. He thought for a second then quietly cast a Supersensory Charm, widening his field of view until he could see behind himself. Without turning his head he concentrated his attention on the field.

He was right; there was a ripple of movement. As the hearse passed the flowers were silently turning to follow it, like eyes or ears on stalks. "Sod it," he said quietly, "I think someone's found us."


	8. Unsociable Hours

"That's creepy," said Bury. "How in Merlin's name are they doing it?" For the last mile every flower they'd passed had turned towards them. And most of the fields they passed were planted with oilseed rape, at this time of year a sea of yellow flowers.

"Damned if I know. There must be hundreds of thousands of plants being controlled there. It's nothing we ever did in herbology."

"I think the thestrals could manage another short flight. Do you want to try out-running whoever it is that's doing this?"

"Not unless there's somewhere unplottable we can land. I've no idea what the range of that spell is, and we can't risk leading a bunch of Muggles to anything they shouldn't see. What about your friends' farm?"

"No; they just have the usual protective wards there, nothing special."

"Those won't hide us. Is there anywhere else around here?"

"Apart from the farm there's sod all until we get much closer to Hogsmeade."

"Okay. Let's just try stopping for a minute. I want to see what the plants do. Pretend that you're checking a hoof or something."

"All right, let's see." Bury pulled on the reins and said "Whoa there, me beauties. Whoa!" The thestrals slowed to a gentle walk, and he added "Brake please." Harry pulled the lever all the way back, as Bury flicked the reins again, and they stopped. Bury climbed down and put on a show of checking a hoof.

Around the hearse the flowers they'd already passed seemed to be losing their focus. "I think they're sensing our movement," Harry murmured. "Let's try an experiment… _Expecto Patronum!_" Harry's silvery stag Patronus materialised in the road ahead, and ran off to the North. Although it was clearly visible the flowers ignored it. Harry concentrated for a moment, and the Patronus vanished again.

"It must be vibration, or maybe noise." Harry clapped his hands loudly. Again there was no response. "Vibration, I suppose. Okay, a silencing charm might help. You do the thestrals' hooves; I'll take care of the wheels."

A couple of minutes later they were on the move again; this time the flowers seemed to ignore them. "We'll have to take it fairly slow," said Bury, "there's no way an ordinary silencing spell will mask out galloping hooves."

"We can't risk going near that farm. Is there anywhere else around here we could shelter for a few hours?"

"I can't think… hang on a moment…" he pored over the map "…if we take the next side-road on the left that might throw them off a bit. There's a disused railway line crosses it about two miles further on, it was shut down in the fifties. The last time I came this way there was still a cottage for the crossing-keeper, and a big shed where they used to keep stuff for repairing the tracks, both a bit ruined. But it's been years, it might all be gone now."

"It's worth a shot," said Harry. "Whoever's casting that spell probably can't keep it up indefinitely. If we go to ground until it's really dark, we might be able to get on without anyone noticing us. Thestrals can see in the dark, and so can we with the right spells."

"I'll have to charge time and a half for unsociable hours," said Bury. "And I think we're probably talking danger money too. Not safe driving around after dark."

"You'll have to discuss that with Aberforth, not me."

"Fair enough." Bury took the hearse around a gentle bend. It sloped downhill, and they could see the junction about half a mile ahead.

"Speed up a bit and take us past the junction, fast enough for the flowers to react to us, then slow down until the flowers stop tracking us and double back."

"Good idea. We'd better give it a half mile or so or they'll guess we doubled back."

Twenty minutes later they reached the old railway. The cottage was still there, though part of the roof had fallen in, the shed still stood and seemed to be intact.

"Okay, you get the hearse and the thestrals into the shed, I'll start putting up some protective enchantments."

"Protect the cottage as well as the shed," said Bury, "for all we know they're trying to find you, not the hearse."

"Don't worry; I was planning to."

"Very nice!" said Bury, coming into the cottage a few minutes later. "It looks like a total ruin now." He put a basket of pies and bottles on the table, then dug into a pocket and put an already-burning oil lamp on the table. "Will anyone be able to see this from outside?"

"No chance. No light, no noise, I've even blocked our smell, just in case they're using tracker dogs or something. Trust me, I've done this before."

"Lovely. Now, this is the last of our fresh food, everything else is packets and cans. Might as well tuck in, if we're going to be buggering about in the dark we'll need a bit of energy. After that, let's try to get a bit of sleep."

. . . . .

They were an hour on their way, and had only seen one car on the road since they left the railway buildings. The driver must have noticed them to the extent of steering around them, but seemed to be unaware that there was anything odd about a hearse on country roads at eleven at night. They kept their speed down, hoping to make up for it in the morning when they were further away.

"I still can't work out what spells they used on the flowers," said Harry. "I've heard of wizards who could control swarms of bees, but that's nothing by comparison. Bee swarms have a group mind anyway."

"It's probably dead simple once you know the trick. Maybe it's something they came up with overseas. No telling what they teach 'em at Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or Salem."

"I doubt they teach anything that odd. The nearest I've seen was the hedges of the maze they made for the Triwizard Cup…" Harry felt an old pang of grief at the memory "…and that was tiny by comparison."

There was a faint engine noise in the distance, slowly growing louder, and a glint of light appeared on the road a long way behind them. "Motor bike," said Bury, "plenty of room for it to get by."

A minute later the bike drove past at breakneck speed, its rider a fair-haired man wearing a leather coat and heavy black gauntlets. "Shouldn't he be wearing a helmet?" said Harry. "I'm pretty sure that there's a Muggle law about it." Bury shrugged.

From somewhere ahead there was a squeal of brakes, then a loud crashing noise. Harry and Bury exchanged glances. A minute later, just past the next curve in the road, they saw the motorbike in a ditch, its rider lying on the road.

"Must have misjudged the turn," said Harry. "We'd better stop, or he could be lying here all night."

Bury gave him a sharp look, but stopped the hearse a few yards short of the body. In the sudden silence they heard a low moan, then "Bugger."

"Are you all right?" said Harry.

"Think I've broken my leg," said a faint voice.

"Let's have a look," said Harry, climbing down. The stranger lay on his back, swearing fluently. Harry bent over to take a closer look. He thought he could smell whisky.

"Got a fag?"

"Sorry," said Harry, "I don't smoke, and I think I can smell petrol anyway. Don't want to start a fire."

"Soddit."

"Which leg is it?"

"This one." Suddenly the stranger was in motion, his leg sweeping round to hook behind Harry's ankles and knock him off his feet. Before he had time to react the stranger was somehow behind him, spinning him round so that he was between the stranger and the hearse, and pinning his wand arm behind his back. Harry twisted his head round, and saw a ridged face and yellow eyes. "We 'aven't been introduced yet. My name's Spike – what's yours?"


	9. Your Starter For Ten

"Now there's an easy way we can do this or some hard ways," said Spike, twisting Harry's arm painfully. "First, your mate there can try to shoot me with his magic stick without hurting you, and after I've stopped laughing and finished breaking your arms I'll go after him. Second, you can try to use your own little magic stick, and I'll break that; probably your arm too. And the third way, the easy way, is that you tell me what I want to know and maybe I'll let you go without breaking your stick or your arms. Do we have a meeting of minds here?"

Harry was pretty sure that he could kill the vampire with wandless magic if he had to, unlike most vampires he seemed to have no magical protection, or simply apparate out of his grip, but the error caught his attention. "They're wands, not sticks."

"Wands, sticks, whatever, I don't bloody care. Now what's the bleeding name?"

"Harry."

"Harry what, sunshine?"

"Tyler."

"Bongggg! Wrong!" Spike twisted harder. "Every time you tell a porky pie a fairy dies, and your little heart goes pitter-patter just that little faster. And I'm a bleeding vampire, so I can sodding hear it. Try again."

Maybe his real name would help. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Harry thought for a second that Spike was going to release him; then Spike added "Never heard of you."

"So why did you ask?"

"To see if you'd tell the truth. Now if you can't even do that when I ask your name, why should I trust you about anything else?" Abruptly Spike spun round again, before Harry had even realised that Bury had Apparated behind them. "That's right, mate. Back away, before I bend Harry here like a pretzel, and no more teleporting."

Bury looked puzzled, and Harry said "He means Apparating." Again, the vampire was using a Muggle word, not one from the wizarding world. He'd never heard of a Muggle vampire before. And of course everyone in the wizarding world knew Harry's name.

"Right, what he said. Now, your starter question for ten… who's in the coffin, Dracula?"

"Dracula's a myth."

"Bollocks. He's as real as you are, or was. So if it's not Drac the lad, what have you got? The Judge? Drusilla… no, I'd know if it was her. Adam?"

"Never heard of any of them," said Bury. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Was I asking you?" Spike snapped. "Now then, Harry? Who is it then? Who does your bloody dark lord want this time? Got a name for me?"

"Dark lord? You mean Voldemort?"

"Yeah, that bastard."

"He's dead."

"Yeah, right, sure he is."

"I ought to know, I bloody killed him!"

"Did you now? So that'd make you the new dark lord, right, whatever you bunch of wankers call it these days?" If anything Spike's voice sounded more threatening.

"Merlin, no. He's dead, and we took the Death Eaters down."

"You know," said Spike, slackening his grip a little. "I think you're actually telling the truth. Now, if you can give me a good answer about the coffin…"

"It's a body, of course. We're going to bury her."

"And that's it? You've imported a body from Sunnydale just to bury it? How the hell did it take four years to get here anyway?"

"Nine years," said Harry "There was a shipping error, it got lost in transit."

"Okay… you know, I think I actually believe you. Now, if I let you go, do you want to talk about this, or are you going to try to use your sticks?"

"Works for me," said Harry. After all, he could probably kill Spike if he had to. Usually it took two or three Aurors, but Spike seemed unusually vulnerable.

"Are you sure?" said Bury.

"I think so."

"Right then," said Spike, releasing Harry and stepping back. "So if it's just a body, why the hell are the Slayers so worked up about it? And what the hell are those bloody things?" He gestured towards the thestrals.

"Slayers?" said Harry. "You mean there's more than one girl with the Curse?"

"With the…" Spike started laughing.

. . . . .

"…So Voldemort's bully-boys caught up with us in Prague in ninety-five." Spike tapped a cigarette on the roof of the hearse, and lit it. He was sitting to the left of Harry, with Bury keeping as far as he could to the right. Ahead the thestrals were trotting along, their hoof-beats still muffled by the spell. "Bastard wanted vampires all over Europe to work for him, and wasn't going to take no for an answer. I killed a couple of his minions, of course, and sent another one back with his arms broken and a note saying 'thanks, but no thanks,' only maybe not so politely." At their looks he added "Look, I was evil back then, it was before I got my soul back, but I wasn't going to be anyone's cannon-fodder. What did you expect me to do?"

"I'll bet Voldemort wasn't happy," said Harry, making a mental note to ask about souls later.

"Too bloody right he wasn't. A couple of nights later we were out for a stroll when the humans started acting oddly, like something was turning them into a sodding mob." Harry had a shrewd idea how that could happen; a few Imperius curses to start the ball rolling, then just pump up the mob's fear and anger.

"Anyway," Spike continued, "they attacked me and Dru; I got away pretty clean, but Dru was hurt really bad. I got the idea that she might recover if I got her to a Hellmouth, and that meant Sunnydale then. And that's where we met the Slayer."

"I thought you started to say there was more than one," said Harry.

"Yeah, well… short version, there was just the one, and she lived in Sunnydale. Only she got drowned, and the next girl in line got the job."

"The curse, you mean."

"They don't think of it that way," said Spike. "There's this whole long thing about the world used to be run by demons, fighting the forces of darkness, yadda yadda. Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?"

"Go on," said Harry.

"Anyway, the thing is that the Slayer was only dead for about thirty seconds. One of her mates got her out of the water and pumped her lungs out, and she came back to life. So then there were two Slayers, and that's how things were until the last battle in Sunnydale, when they decided they needed a Slayer army. They knew that there were still new Slayers made when the old ones were killed, they proved that when Kendra died, and…"

"Wait a minute," said Harry. "Kendra? Kendra Young?"

"Never knew her last name. Why?"

"Because she's right behind you."

"Oh bleeding hell…"

"Her only living relative's in Scotland," said Bury, "He wants to see to the funeral."

"Right," said Spike. "You'd better take the left turn up ahead, and follow the directions I give you."

"Why's that?" asked Harry.

"Because I pissed off to take a look for myself before they knew who was in the box, but they've got to know by now. Right now every Slayer in Britain is probably on your trail. The only way you're going to get out of this with your balls intact is to talk your way out of it. And we need to go to them before they come to us, because I think that there's going to be a lot less screaming that way."

Harry thought for a few seconds, curiosity warring with caution, then said "I think you're right. Mister Bury, I think it might be best if you Apparate home, they won't be able to follow you there. I'll drive the hearse, and Spike can lead me to the Slayers."

"Sod that," said Bury, "it's my bloody hearse, and I decide who drives it. I just hope to Merlin you know what you're doing."

"Well," said Harry, "let's go and find out…"


	10. Only If We’re Lucky

The sky was starting to brighten and Spike was looking a little worried by the time the hearse finally followed a series of narrow lanes to a high glass-topped brick wall and an entrance blocked by heavy steel gates. In the half-light preceding dawn Harry read a sign above the arch; _The Tara Maclay Memorial School ~ Headmaster Robin Wood Ph.D._ The names meant nothing to Harry. For the last few miles he'd had an uneasy sensation of being watched, and he guessed that whoever had been controlling the plants was casting new spells to observe them.

Spike climbed down and spoke into a microphone beside the gate, and after a moment they swung open. "Right," said Spike, climbing back up and lifting his coat to cover his head. "Follow the track, the school's about two miles further on. And step on it a bit, or I'm going to be a crispy critter."

"Right," said Bury, cracking the reins until the hearse was moving at a brisk trot. Up ahead there were several rows of light, and the dim suggestion of a large building. Off to the sides Harry could see occasional trees, rolling grounds, and in the distance… in the distance was the largest giant he'd ever seen, walking parallel to the road and apparently watching them. But it looked far more humanly proportioned than the usual run of giants. Suddenly the penny dropped, and Harry said "Merlin, was someone stupid enough to screw a thricewise?"

"That's right," said Spike, his voice muffled by the coat. "Bloody Andrew decided to come out of the closet, got pissed, and ended up bonking Kenny. We're still trying to find the git to get the spell reversed."

"Well, if he didn't know any better…" said Bury.

"Everyone knew who Kenny was, and what happens if you shag him, it's not like it's the first time. Silly sod was too pissed to remember. Still, it's handy for getting the windows cleaned." Spike didn't sound very worried about the situation, and Harry guessed that Andrew wasn't his favourite person.

"Won't he explode eventually?" asked Harry.

"Only if we're very lucky."

"Um… right."

Something else was moving in the shadows; women, at least five to either side, effortlessly keeping up with the hearse. Ahead the building was clearer; an old castle, much smaller than Hogwarts but still impressive. The hearse rattled onto a large gravelled forecourt, where several more women seemed to be a reception committee. Spike shouted "Gangway!" and jumped down before they'd stopped, running towards an open door with his coat over his head.

"Whoa!" said Bury, and as the hearse stopped Harry pulled back the brake lever.

"Stay here," said Harry, "I'll go talk to them." Behind him he could hear Bury muttering some defensive charms.

He climbed down and walked towards the women, recognising Vi and Kennedy amongst a half-dozen others he didn't recall seeing before. Everyone he could see was carrying some sort of medieval weapon; swords, crossbows, longbows and axes. Harry had a feeling that they weren't just for show. The sun's first rays lit the top floors of the castle.

"Good morning," said Harry, picking his words carefully. "Spike suggested that we drop in for a chat. Could I have a word with whoever's in charge?"

. . . . .

"Okay," said the woman who seemed to be running things, a tall brunette in her early twenties, "so you've been running from us because you thought we wanted to steal Kendra's body, right?"

"That's right, Miss Summers." They were in a comfortable office on the second floor. Once they were inside Spike had warned them of his wand; to keep the peace he'd agreed to put it on the table, a few feet away, while they were talking. Two of the women from the courtyard stood near the door, watching Harry for any sign of a false move.

"And the flying horse-demon things?"

"I've already told you, they're magical, not demons."

"And you're not prepared to tell me where you or they come from."

"Look," said Harry, "I've given my word not to discuss this, would you trust me if I were to break my word?"

"Why should I trust you anyway?"

"I may be able to help break the curse on Vi and Kennedy, and anyone else affected."

"What curse?"

"The Slayer curse, of course."

"Riiight…" Behind him the women at the door were giggling.

Harry had a feeling that he'd just made a tactical mistake. "Anything that gets young women killed like that has to be some sort of curse. We've…"

"And who exactly is we?" asked another woman, coming into the office, "and where the heck did you get that neat flying hearse?" Harry felt a swirl of magical energy, flowing around the new arrival, somehow constrained and controlled. He recognised its 'signature', similar to the wards around the castle, which would block magical communication and apparation in or out. He couldn't sense a focus for the power, a wand or anything else that might serve in its place. It was possible to cast some spells without a focus, of course, but there was another, darker way; using your own body, mind, and soul as the focus. The risks were obvious, of course. A wand "remembered" the spells it had cast, and the last of them could be recalled by the _Prior Incantato_ spell; use yourself as the focus, and the spells wrote themselves into you. In the short term it offered great power, in the long term the trick was a recipe for illness and insanity, rarely seen amongst trained witches and wizards.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "I've already said I can't discuss this. Does it really matter, miss… ah…?"

"Rosenberg; Willow Rosenberg." She looked at him, as if expecting him to know her name. Harry guessed that she had some fame amongst witches outside the normal community.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Harry Potter. Was that your spell, the one with the flowers?"

"No, that was Illyria, she can talk to the green."

"Illyria, that's an unusual…" Harry suddenly remembered where he'd heard the name before; in a History of Magic class at Hogwarts. Usually he'd had to struggle to stay awake, but for some reason the story of the Old Ones and their banishment from the world had interested him. "…an unusual name. Named after the ancient legend, I suppose."

"Not exactly," said Willow. "It's more that she _was_ the ancient legend."

"You've got an ancient demon here?"

"Demon god, actually."

"That's… interesting," said Harry, concentrating. His wand wasn't that far away, and if he concentrated… "_Accio wand!_" The wand flew to his hand, before the women had time to react, and he apparated down to the foyer, then ran out through the wards to the courtyard, firing a fusillade of stunners at anyone who got in his way, and taking down the women guarding Bury and the hearse. "Get out of here now!" he shouted, "They've been summoning demons!"

"Right!" shouted Bury, clambering up with impressive speed, "about bleeding time." He cracked the reins and shouted "full speed ahead!" Harry pushed the lever forward as far as it would go, as the thestrals broke into a gallop back towards the gate. Faster and faster; behind them more women ran into in the courtyard, chasing the hearse at impossible speeds. An arrow thudded into the seat between them, and one of the hearse windows shattered, then another. They were starting to pull away from the women when a small figure appeared on the track ahead, an odd-looking woman with blue hair and leather form-fitting armour, running towards the hearse at least as fast as they were travelling. It had to be another Slayer. "Twist the lever!" shouted Bury. With a few beats of its wings the coach and thestrals rose into the air, lurching sickeningly before it was flying properly. Bury banked to avoid the giant form that was striding towards the gate, and in moments they were over the wall, flying North at the thestrals' top speed.

"That was a close one," shouted Harry. "I can't believe it, they summoned a bloody demon and they were boasting about it! Bloody Illyria, for Merlin's sake."

"They must be out of their minds!"

"If I felt that the opinions of muck mattered," said a quiet voice, "I would be offended."

Harry and Bury looked around. Sitting on the roof behind them, somehow staying put despite the wind and the constant lurching of the hearse, was the red-armoured woman they'd seen earlier. There was something inhuman about the way she held her head, and the icy blue of her eyes and skin. She rose to her feet and walked forward, dropping into the seat between them. "I am Illyria, God-King of the Primordium, Shaper of Things."


	11. The Servant Problem

Harry and Bury edged away from her, until the cushioning spells stopped them moving any further. She looked at Bury, seemed to dismiss him, and turned to Harry. "It is customary for you to respond."

"Merlin, I..."

"You are not Merlin, unless you have chosen a new form."

"No, I'm... wait a minute, you knew _Merlin_?"

"He visited the Deeper Well... even in my sleep, I was aware of his passing. You have not answered my question." She touched her hand to his wand arm, and he felt an electric jolt. His whole arm was numb.

"Sorry! I'm Harry Potter." Harry wasn't sure that answering would do much good, but it had to be more useful than trying to fight her… him… it… whatever…

"You are the Harry Potter who slew the wizard Voldemort?"

Bury muttered "Oh, for Merlin's sake..."

"Your servant is noisy." She turned her head, lightning fast, to glare balefully at Bury.

"He's not my servant," Harry said quickly, "and he's flying this thing so please don't distract him. I think he was surprised that you knew my name." Harry wasn't; Ginny sometimes joked that if Martians ever landed the first thing that they'd ask for would be an authentic signed Harry Potter photo. Merlin knew that everyone else seemed to want one.

Illyria turned back to Harry. "You will answer my questions; he will drive, without further interruptions."

"Okay. Yes, I killed Voldemort. How did you know?"

"He was a client of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart. I read his file, and yours. You appear to be unremarkable, how did you slay him?"

"I got lucky, and he made some big mistakes. What do you mean, 'a client of the wolf, the ram and the hart'?" A vague memory stirred, a sign he'd seen in Diagon Alley. "Do you mean Wolfram and Hart, the lawyers?"

"Yes. How were you lucky?"

"He just kept making mistakes. He killed his allies on a whim, or when he had a theory that he'd gain magical power from it. And he really misunderstood some of the magic he was using and its consequences."

"He was incompetent, you were not."

"That's about it."

"You confirm my impression. A pity…"

"Err… why?"

"Had he triumphed and taken sufficient magical power, he would by now be ripe for the plucking. If you had defeated such a powerful mage you would be an acceptable substitute. But you are not."

Harry was pretty sure that he wouldn't have liked to be plucked, whatever she meant by that. The slow return of feeling – and pain – to his arm was confirmation of her power.

Illyria glanced forward, and said "The thestrals are tiring."

"That's right," said Bury, "they can't fly for long with the hearse in tow."

"They are creatures of my creation, you will not abuse them. Land immediately."

As the hearse swooped down towards a rolling moor Harry said "You created the thestrals?"

"I created several beasts of this world, including thestrals, and many of its plants; you will find this hard to believe, but before I arrived this world lacked bubotubers, gillyweed, and spinach."

"Spinach? Now that's _evil_," said Harry, then "Hang on!"

Thirty or so seconds of frantic activity later the hearse was on the ground, rolling across the heather and slowing as Bury frantically steered to avoid rocks and trees. Eventually it shuddered to a stop. Illyria seemed to flicker and vanish, reappearing in front of the thestrals. She hadn't apparated; Harry had the impression that she had simply moved faster than his eye could follow.

As Illyria examined the thestrals, Bury leaned towards Harry and whispered "Do you want to try something?"

"Merlin, no! If she's really who she says she is she's practically indestructible."

"I also have extremely good hearing." Suddenly Illyria was crouched behind them on the roof of the hearse again. "You have treated the animals well. Now… why do you doubt my identity?"

"Um…"

"Well?"

"It's… well, it's…"

"My patience, though great, is not inexhaustible."

"What he's trying to say," Bury said, "is that we both thought that if you were a demon you'd kill us."

"But you don't have to, we're not disappointed or anything," Harry quickly added. Nearby a bird started to sing. Illyria glared at it for a moment, and it flew away, squawking its alarm cry.

"Your knowledge of demons is incomplete, and I am not a demon. In my original form I was a god to demons. You would worship me too, if you saw me in all my majesty."

"What happened?" asked Harry.

"My servants… my worshippers… sought to bring me back to this world before the stars were right, and trapped my essence in this… this…" She looked down at herself with an expression of disgust "this human shell, destroying its soul in the process."

"The Slayers did that?" Harry was horrified.

"They did not. For now they, and Spike, are my allies. Now, you will tell me what necromancy you plan with the body of the Slayer Kendra."

Harry sighed, and was about to launch into another round of explanations when they heard the noise of an approaching helicopter. It began to orbit the hearse, and Harry watched, surprised, as a series of women slid down ropes and landed in a circle around them.

"You will explain to them too."


	12. Made in Peru

"Now here's my plan," said Bury, "one of us should be able to cast a wandless spell to get one of the wands back if we really concentrate hard, and then..."

"That won't work," said Harry, relaxing on the reasonably comfortable bed of the turret room where they were being held. "The wands are three floors down, and if we _accio_ them they'll be flying around the place, and I've a feeling someone would notice. Look, I think they're starting to believe the truth about the body, if we just wait it out I think we'll be all right." As he talked he signalled for Bury to play along, guessing that they were being overheard, if not by magic then by electronics, or by Illyria listening through the walls. He couldn't see a camera anywhere, that didn't mean that there wasn't one but he hoped that if they could see him they wouldn't understand what he was doing before it was too late.

"I suppose you're right. Even if we got away, I can't see us getting the hearse out of here."

"Exactly. Like I say, we just have to wait it out. Most of them seem to be reasonable people, it's just that witch of theirs that worries me."

"The red-head?" Bury made a face. "She's going to kill herself or one of her friends casting spells without a wand."

"It's not quite that bad," Harry saw a winged shadow flit past the window, and quietly got up and put his hand out through the bars. "Wandless magic has a bad reputation, but I think she has it under control. I was thinking more about the things we're not allowed to tell her. I don't think she'll be satisfied without knowing all the facts, and you know how much paperwork that would involve." He waited… there was a soft thud from the fireplace behind him, and some soot sifted down from the chimney. Henrietta was a good owl, but not quite in Hedwig's league; she'd missed seeing his hand, but at least she'd found the right chimney.

Harry groped in the ashes, and found a small leather pouch. "Anyway, might as well get a bit of rest, they said they were waiting for someone from London, probably won't get here for hours." He gestured for Bury to come close, while listening for anyone coming up the stairs. He couldn't hear anyone, that didn't mean that there wasn't someone on the way.

Harry tipped out a silk bag containing a dozen of the finest Weasley fireworks, carefully selected for noise, duration, and distraction value, and a book of matches. Next was a gold Galleon, Hermione's invention, magically connected to a dozen others like it, at the Ministry and carried by some of the other Aurors. It probably wouldn't work through the castle wards, but ought to be useful once they were outside. The next item was a phial of the Draught of Living Death, enough to knock out eight or ten people. After that was what looked like a stubby Muggle pencil; Harry flicked it gently, and a butterfly flew from the end. Bury raised his eyebrows in surprise. The disguised wand was one of the Ministry's secrets; it took Ollivander three weeks to make something that size that worked at all, longer to match it to its user, and they cost a small fortune. It wasn't anywhere near as good as his usual wand – it was impossible to pack a powerful core into such a short length – but it ought to be good enough to get him to the real thing. For a moment Harry wished that he still carried his cloak routinely, or had it in his emergency kit, but it was too precious to risk. Never mind; the final item was a matchbox-sized cardboard box containing four tiny glass phials full of swirling black powder, and a pair of folding cardboard spectacles with grey lenses. Harry turned the box over to show Bury the Weasley logo, and 'Made in Peru.'

Harry lit one of the fireworks and threw it as far as he could out of the window. A few seconds later there was a colossal 'BANG!' and flash of red light outside, followed by the 'Whizz' of a dozen more bomblets flying off in different directions. Harry ran back to the door, and with a quick "_Alohomora_" the door swung open. Harry stunned the distracted girls outside, put on the cardboard glasses, and threw another two fireworks and a vial of Peruvian Darkness Powder down the spiral stairs. There were more explosions, and Bury looked at Harry dubiously. "Upstairs!" said Harry, "and grab my belt if the darkness comes up this far." Below the stairs were filling with harmless evil-smelling smoke and darkness; the darkness was soon level with their feet, rising up their bodies as Bury grabbed him. In a few moments only the special glasses allowed him to see his way. He led Bury up a flight and back into the light, found a door that led out onto the battlements, fired off more stunners at the women patrolling the wall, and ran across the roof towards another turret. An arrow whizzed past his head – Harry wondered why they preferred them to Muggle guns – and he fired a stunner back but couldn't tell if he hit his target. Another phial of darkness powder gave them the cover they needed to reach the turret. Along the way he threw more fireworks down into the castle courtyard, and threw the last firework and another vial of powder down the flight of stairs in the new turret.

"Now what?" said Bury, "They're bound to guess we're going down."

"We're not; keep quiet." He led Bury back outside under the cover of darkness, cast a quick spell on his enchanted Galleon, and threw it out as hard as he could. He whispered "Now we wait here," and risked a last silencing spell and a low-level Muggle repelling charm, hoping that neither would be enough to tip off the witch to their presence. He felt as tired as though he'd played a hard Quidditch game, using the wrong wand was exhausting. He put the pencil in his pocket, joining a couple of pens the women hadn't confiscated; if they were caught there was a chance it would go unnoticed.

For the next few minutes the explosions continued, slowly tapering off into silence. Twice girls groped their way along the battlements, but as Harry had hoped they missed the crouching wizards.

Slowly the darkness began to clear, and Bury whispered "better break the last vial."

"Can't. They'll notice for sure if this doesn't clear."

"There you are!" a satisfied-sounding voice said a minute later. Harry looked around; Willow was floating in the air level with the battlements, a faint flicker of lightning around her. She gestured, and Harry felt his charms evaporate, along with the last of the darkness.

"Now what?" said Bury.

"Now we find out what you're really up to," said Willow. "Someone could have been hurt with all those explosions."

"They're harmless," said Harry, "just noise and light. Look, we just want to do our job and take her to be buried."

"Yeah, like I believe that."

"It's true," said Harry. "Anyway, it's too late for arguments."

"Why's that?"

With a series of loud cracks a dozen broomsticks appeared around the castle, each carrying a combat-trained Auror, and a _Sonorus_-amplified voice said "This is the Ministry of Magic – lay down your wands and weapons and come out quietly."

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "Hopefully we can settle this without criminal charges, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in for questioning."


	13. Under Siege

"To continue," said Percy Weasley, ignoring the flashes of several cameras, "first reports of the situation came to the Ministry's attention three days ago, when an Auror assigned to a routine airport security duty noticed some suspicious activity by a group of Muggle women, and informed the Ministry. Briefly, he became aware of evidence of extraordinary strength and speed, consistent with the so-called 'Slayer Curse' which you will find described in your briefing scrolls. It was felt best to keep our profile minimal, to avoid giving this group any proof of magic's existence."

"Yesterday morning we received another message, using an emergency communications system which I am not at liberty to describe, giving the location of these premises…" Percy gestured towards the castle behind him, shimmering behind something that looked like blue heat haze, "…and warning us that our Auror and another wizard were being held prisoner, and that there was an unspecified dangerous magical creature on the premises. We now believe that at least one unregistered witch is also present. Our investigations suggest that someone has found the key to casting the 'Slayer Curse' at will, presumably to create an army of women capable of defeating any normal Muggle force."

"We are currently trying to negotiate with this group to arrange a peaceful settlement and the release of all hostages, after which we hope to investigate the circumstances of these events and the prosecution of any witches or wizards involved, if we find evidence of criminal activities. Questions?"

"Auror Weasley!" a dozen voices shouted. Percy recognized one, and thought that he might as well get the worse over with first.

"Miss Skeeter?"

"Can you confirm for the Prophet's readers that the kidnapped Auror is none other than the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter himself?"

"Perhaps I should begin by pointing out that Auror Potter is now twenty-seven years old. I'm reasonably sure that he would not thank you for calling him a 'boy'." A dozen reporters laughed; Rita wasn't the most popular member of the wizarding press, at least amongst her peers. "To answer your question, I'm not at liberty to reveal the names of anyone involved at this time."

"We have reports," said Rita, "that the clock in Mister Potter's house shows him as being in Mortal Danger. Would you care to comment?"

"All I can say, Miss Skeeter," said Percy, "is you're misinformed; my brother-in-law's clock doesn't _have_ a Mortal Danger position." It actually read 'Mortal Peril', but Percy had no intention of saying so. "Although having said that, I'd imagine that _my_ clock may be reading something of the sort, because my sister will kill me if I discuss Harry's activities."

More laughter; Percy spotted another familiar face in the crowd. "Mister Creevy?"

"Dennis Creevy, Wizarding Wireless Network. This siege has attracted the attention of the whole wizarding world's press, and commentators in America are comparing it to a Muggle siege a few years ago, which led to several deaths. That was caused by the activities of a Muggle religious cult; is any cult activity suspected in the current situation?"

"Yes." More flashes, and more questions which Percy ignored. "Let me finish please. We have reason to believe that this situation may be linked to the destruction of the city of Sunnydale, California, four years ago. American Aurors suspected cult involvement at the time, and there were several reports of demonic activity; reports which we now believe may be substantiated."

"Auror Weasley," shouted someone he didn't recognize, a woman with an American accent, "are you saying that there's a _demon_ in that castle?"

"We haven't ruled it out," said Percy. "But obviously our investigation is ongoing. Those of you who remember your Dark Arts courses will know that there are many different species, some of them more or less harmless, and it's possible that that's what we're dealing with here. Mister Creevy again?"

"Is it true that there was a giant guarding the castle, and you had to stun him after he knocked a broomstick out of the air and injured a wizard?"

"It isn't a true giant," said Percy, "just someone suffering from the usual Thricewise curse." There was a ripple of amusement from the assembled reporters, everyone knew how that one worked. "It's true that he did some minor damage, but nobody has been injured, apart from a few bruises and grazes." Behind the reporters he noticed one of his assistants waving a small scroll and making a 'wind it up' gesture. "No more questions for now, please. I'm sorry, I'm needed elsewhere."

. . . . .

"Look," Harry said through the bars of the magically-warded cell door, "I know that your witch isn't going to trust me with a wand, but at least let Mister Bury renew the preservation spell on the body. It was only intended to last a couple of days, and it's a bit warm with all the wards around the castle."

"I can smell it a bit already," said Spike. "All right, I'll ask, but your friends out there have got the Slayers running paranoid. It's not in their blood to give up without a fight, and by now people on the outside must have noticed that the phones aren't working and so forth."

"So?"

"So sooner or later someone will show up wanting answers. Someone with big bloody guns, I'd imagine."

"Guns?" said Bury. "Think they're a match for magic?"

"I'd really rather not find out," said Harry.

"Good lad," said Spike. "If big sis really thinks that Dawn's in trouble she's likely to show up with a few of her mates. Maybe your blokes can handle Slayers, though with all the magical knick-knacks Willow's been handing out to all and sundry I wouldn't swear to that, but Buffy's got friends in the military, commando types with no sense of humour and lots of experience fighting magic. Spells are all well and good at close range, but a sniper or a helicopter gunship can really ruin your day."

"Merlin… look, can you try to persuade your witch to talk to us? Someone needs to take the initiative here, or there's going to be even more trouble."

"I'll try. But I think Willow may have her own ideas about how we're going to settle things, and right now she's not in a very understanding mood."

. . . . .

Percy hurried through the wards that kept the press a safe distance from the castle, and waited until they were out of earshot before asking questions. "What's happening, Jenkins?"

"Message from the Minister, sir; apparently the Muggle Prime Minister had been in touch, he's not very happy."

"The Muggle Prime Minister? What's he got to do with anything?"

"It seems that our friends in the castle have contacts in high places."

"That's all we need. Okay, let's see the scroll."

Percy read it through then read it again. "This doesn't really change anything; the Minister isn't actually ordering us to drop the case. It just means that we'll have to be really sure of our grounds before we arrest anyone. Have a word with the others, tell them to be extra careful."

Jenkins went off, and Percy heard a feminine voice say "Excuse me."

"Yes?" Percy turned, and saw an attractive brunette in her thirties holding a notebook and quill, the American reporter who'd questioned him at the press conference. "Sorry to bother you, I was hoping you could give me more background on the Slayer curse."

"Not right now, I'm… just a minute, how did you get out here, miss..?"

"Burkle. Winifred Burkle, _Los Angeles Cauldron_. I guess I just followed you out here."

"Through the wards?"

"What wards?"

Percy swore, and turned to look back the way he'd come. Surely Jenkins hadn't messed up a spell that basic… He never saw the fist that knocked him out.


	14. Demon Metamorphmagus

"Are you all right?" Percy tried to concentrate, but the ringing in his ears made it almost impossible. "Percy? Are you okay?" Wasn't that Harry's voice? "Sod it…" Harry's voice dropped to a whisper "…_Ennervate_"

Percy's mind snapped back to full awareness with painful suddenness. He opened his eyes, noticed Harry slipping a short pencil back into his pocket, nearly said something, but guessed that his captors had no idea of its significance. "Good thing you can cast that spell without a wand. What the hell's going on here?"

"As far as I can make out they think we're necromancers or something, because we've got the body of one of their Slayers, but they're not exactly looking for much in the way of proof. They've taken our wands, and this cell's pretty heavily warded."

"We… oh, you and Bury?"

"That's right, Mister Weasley," said Bury, who was sitting on an uncomfortable-looking bed on the far side of the cell. "I'm going to want serious compensation for this little lot."

Percy groped in his pocket, but as he'd expected his wand was gone, and all his other magical possessions. "What hit me?"

"I don't know," said Harry, "but it was Illyria that bought you in… I thought she was a demon, that's what they told us in History of Magic, but she claims to be some sort of god."

"A woman in her thirties," said Percy, climbing to his feet, "about so tall?"

"About that height," said Harry, "but how you'd mistake her for a woman is beyond me. She's got pale blue skin and blue-black hair!"

"That's not what hit me," said Percy, "she just looked like an ordinary American woman, nothing special. Said she was a reporter for the _Los Angeles Cauldron._

"Never heard of it, and I think every wizarding paper in America tried to get an interview when Ginny and I were there on our honeymoon. Is Ginny all right?"

"She's worried as hell, of course, what do you think? Anyway, whoever she was, she must have walked through our wards like they weren't there. I would have felt it or heard something if she'd used a spell to get through."

"Not human then. She must be some sort of demon metamorphmagus."

"So what's this all about?" asked Percy. "Putting together what Hermione told me about the Slayer curse and the little the Federal Bureau of Magic seemed to know, someone seems to be building a super-powered army. What's their aim?"

"As far as I can make out," said Harry, "mostly they're Muggle girls with the Slayer Curse, though they seem to think that it isn't a curse, with a fairly powerful unregistered witch, maybe more than one, and some other Muggles helping them. None of them seem to know anything about us. They say that they want to kill vampires and demons. They seem to think that they're protecting the world from the monsters. Unfortunately their definition of monsters seems to include us."

"With a demon or a god or whatever the hell it is to help them?" Percy began to pace the cell.

"Don't forget the vampire," Bury said helpfully. "Seemed like a nice bloke for a blood-sucking fiend, said his name was Spike."

"Spike? What sort of a name is Spike?"

Harry shrugged. "He says that Voldemort tried to recruit him during the war, and he turned him down."

"Out of the goodness of his heart, no doubt?"

"Nah," said a voice from the other side of the steel barred door. "I could see he was a total tosser, look at the silly masks he made his boys wear."

"If you know about Voldemort, you must know that we're not evil wizards, or whatever the hell these people seem to think we are," said Percy, backing away from the door. The man outside looked human, but there were red traces on his lips and the mug he was carrying, with an 'I heart Blood Donors' logo, didn't smell like coffee.

"All I know is that up until this week the only wizards I'd met with wands worked for Voldemort. Harry here says different and I think he's telling the truth, so does Illyria, and she seems to know a bit about you, but right now your dog and pony show out there has everyone here freaking out. And it's not like you've left us any way of getting advice. Or shopping for that matter, and we've got fifty-odd girls here who eat like horses. Not to mention that we're going to be running out of things like sanitary towels and pig's blood pretty soon."

"Could we arrange some sort of truce?" suggested Percy. "If you release one of us the Ministry will probably arrange to deliver what you want, within reason."

"Sorry, mate, but there's no way they'll agree to let anything in if they don't get it for themselves. Just a bit paranoid about being drugged, Willow was pretty impressed with the bottle of juice Harry was carrying the second time we searched him, one drop on his water bottle knocked out a guinea pig and it still hasn't come round. Love to know how you sneaked that one in."

"Official secret, I'm afraid." Harry was surprised that they hadn't spotted Henrietta, maybe they had but hadn't realised her significance.

"Wait a minute," said Percy. "You said something about wanting advice. Is there someone we could get that might be able to help us negotiate a truce until we can sort this mess out?"

"Well, you could maybe talk to… Oh, nice try, but if you think I'm going to give you anyone's name you're out of your mind. The Watcher would have my…"

"Watcher?" asked Harry.

"A bloke that watches the Slayer, makes sure that she knows what she's fighting and researches demons and things. There used to be one Slayer and hundreds of Watchers, and most of them were tossers too. A lot of them were killed four years ago, these days it's more the other way around."

"Watcher…" said Percy. "I'm sure I've heard that somewhere before. Watcher…" He paced the cell for a minute or so then snapped his fingers. "'Watcher's Committee…' no… 'Watcher's Council,' That was it."

"That's right." Spike looked surprised. "Where did you hear that one then?"

"From a job description," said Percy. "Spike, can you find me someone who knows something about this council, I want to check something."

"I know a bit myself, what do you want to know?"

Percy looked at Spike uncertainly. "Does the name Travers mean anything to you?"

"A bloke called Quentin Travers used to run the Council."

"Damn. No, the name I know is Durward Travers. It must just be a coincidence of surnames."

"No it isn't." Spike sounded completely certain.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Sir Walter Scott wrote a book called Quentin Durward, can't remember the exact date but it was still pretty popular when I was a boy in the nineteenth century, and well into the twentieth. There was a pretty good film too. If someone liked the book and had a couple of sons he might give them those names."

"I've never heard of it," said Harry. Bury just shook his head.

"So what about him?" asked Spike.

"Durward Travers was a Death Eater, one of the worst. He escaped from Az… from prison in ninety-six, we recaptured him in ninety-eight, he died a couple of years ago. But before anyone knew who he was, he worked at the Ministry of Magic. His official title was Watcher's Council Liaison, under the Department of Mysteries, and nobody who made it through the war seems to know what that meant."

"Interesting," said Harry, "I remember Travers all right, but I don't see how it gets us anywhere."

"Me neither," said Spike.

"It means that someone somewhere in the Watcher's Council might know enough about us to know that we're not evil necromancers, I hope, and that somewhere there might be some sort of agreement between the Ministry and the Council. We haven't got anything, or if we have it's well hidden, maybe it's more accessible from that end." Percy took a deep breath. "And we need to find some common ground fast. By now the Ministry must know I'm missing, I was trying to keep this low-key but the wards your witch put up aren't going to protect this place from an all-out attack, and if that happens a lot of people are going to get hurt."

"All right," said Spike. "I'll talk to people, see what I can do."


	15. The Good Guys

"You could just let all of us go," suggested Harry.

"And then there's nothing to stop your wizards screwing us over," said Willow.

"So you're holding us hostage."

"No." Dawn stood up from the conference table and stretched. "We're not going to go that route."

"But…" Willow's eyes narrowed and seemed to darken a little.

"Get over it, Willow, we've screwed up. Those guys out there are a magical SWAT squad. Illyria says so, Percy and Harry say so, Spike thinks that they're telling the truth, and they sure as hell look like it to me. They're cops, and they think that they're dealing with something like Waco. If we don't make some concessions, and fast, they'll be coming in with everything they've got. Your wards will probably stop them for a while, we might even be able to fight them off if they break through, but you've got to sleep some time, we're running low on supplies, and we aren't criminals or terrorists, remember? We're the good guys, and we need to act like it."

"Dawn…"

"Willow, do you want to see Kennedy hurt? Or Vi, or any of the others?"

"Of course not!"

"Okay. Now Percy seems to think that there may be some sort of treaty between us and these wizards, and what I'm hoping is that there's something in there that'll be the basis for future cooperation, and for getting out of this mess without anyone going to jail. So far I think we can write everything off as a series of unfortunate mistakes." Dawn looked at Percy for confirmation. "Not least Harry stunning everyone in sight when he broke out. There's been mistakes on both sides."

"I… honestly don't know," said Percy. "If there's a legal precedent for cooperation between our organisations then we can probably do that, but without it there'll have to be a proper investigation. We can work around the… um… wrongful imprisonment, if none of us press charges. Harry, Mister Bury; are you both all right with that?"

"I suppose I did panic a bit when Dawn told us about Illyria… so yes, I'll agree to that," said Harry.

Bury nodded; "I'll go along with it if someone will pay me for my time."

"I think the Ministry can organise something. Now, the remaining questions are the return of the body and the hearse, harbouring a demon without a proper Dark Arts research permit, and the whole Slayer Curse business."

"There is no curse," said Dawn, "and the sooner you take that on board the better. All of those girls were already potential Slayers and all of them would have been hunted down and killed if we hadn't cast the spell to release their potential. We didn't curse them, we saved their lives."

"We'll need some documentation on that, and on the exact nature of the spell you cast, but it ought to be regarded as extenuating circumstances. Now, with regard to the demon…"

"God-King." Percy spun round, to find Illyria standing immediately behind him, in her blue form. "Your petty Ministry means little to me, and nobody is harbouring me. I choose to stay here, because it is marginally more interesting than the alternatives I have considered. Of course, if you give me reason to become interested in your parliament of wizards…"

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Percy said hastily. "But would you be prepared to talk to historians? It's apparent that our knowledge of the early history of magic is woefully incomplete, any information you could give us would be very welcome."

"That might be… acceptable." For some reason Willow started giggling. Illyria's head snapped around. "And your cause for amusement?"

"Sorry; I was just imagining the next generation of magical school kids trying to get their heads around everything you could tell them, all those gods eating each other and destroying worlds. It'll blow their minds."

Harry grinned. "It can't be worse than our current syllabus. It won't be as boring anyway." Even Percy smiled at that.

"That just leaves Kendra," said Kennedy.

"The body goes to her family," Harry said flatly.

"We are her family," Dawn said firmly. "Not blood relatives, though come to think of it Rona is some sort of distant cousin, but she died a Slayer and Slayers look after their own. And there are practical reasons why we don't want her buried anywhere that isn't under our control, especially in the middle of a community of magicians. There are dark wizards that would love to have the body of a Slayer."

"Not since Voldemort went down."

"Don't kid yourself," said Spike. "I'll wager that the day he died half a dozen others began thinking about taking his place. How long has it been now, about ten years?"

"Nine," said Harry.

"Okay, then by now you're probably off your guard a little, not quite so vigilant. You might not notice a discreet bit of grave robbery, especially if it's not a witch or a wizard's grave."

"It's… possible, I suppose," said Percy. "Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement. I'll have to talk to her relatives."

"Which means at least another couple of days before the funeral," said Bury, "which means I need to refresh the bloody preservation spells. She's already past due."

"Well past," said Spike. "You might not be able to smell it yet, but I can." Most of the people in the room looked a little queasy.

"I'll need my wand for it," said Bury. "And I need to care for the thestrals too."

"They're fine, I think," said Kennedy, "some of the girls have been looking after them. They're weird, but kinda cute if you can get over the skeleton look. And they really like cheeseburgers."

"We'll be giving the wands back once you're outside the wards," said Dawn. "Sorry, but I think we'll have to take things one step at a time. The thestrals will be okay here until we settle this, or if things drag on we can let them out. Willow, can you do something about the body for now?"

"I guess, some sort of stasis effect should prevent further deterioration."

"All right… then I think we're done."

"Just like that?" asked Harry.

"Just like that." Dawn held out her hand, and Percy shook it, then Harry. "Okay, one last thing to settle. Who's going to go out to make the phone call?"

"Can't be me," said Willow. "And I don't think it should be you, if the deal falls through you'll be needed here. Same goes for Illyria."

"Me then," said Kennedy. "If things get physical Vi can take charge. I have the numbers programmed into my phone."

"Works for me," said Dawn.

Willow kissed Kennedy and said "Be careful, baby," then turned to Harry and Percy and said "Umm… I think I should maybe apologise. Most of the people who used to run the council were wiped out a few apocalypses ago, and I guess they would have handled this better. We're still picking up the pieces, and it's kinda easy to assume that everyone's against us. Constant vigilance and all that stuff. Sorry."

"It's understandable," said Harry. "We've all been there, I think."

Illyria stood, and almost seemed to be pouting. "If there is to be no violence, I will see to the thestrals. But you disappoint me." She walked out.

"We disappoint her?" said Harry.

"Illyria likes a good old-fashioned punch-up," said Spike. "Why do you think she hangs around with us? She was looking forward to smashing a few heads."

"Okay," said Willow, leading the way to the lobby and out onto the forecourt. Spike stayed inside, out of the sunlight. In the distance they could see several broomsticks orbiting the castle. "Walk out until you hit the wards. I'll make a gap, but you've got to go through in single file, and as fast as you can."

Vi came out with a heavy steel box on her shoulder and gave it to Kennedy.

"The wands are in the box," said Willow, "the combination is your birthday. It's warded against magic. Go through last, and don't open it or let them touch it until you're outside the wards."

"No problem," said Kennedy.

"Okay," said Dawn, "let's do this."

Harry went forward until he was touching the inside of the wards. Close to they looked like a curtain of rippling blue glass, unlike anything he'd seen before. At his touch a perfectly circular hole opened, a tunnel several yards long. "Run," shouted Willow. "I can't hold it for long."

They scrambled through. Kennedy came last, and looked a little shaken. "That was a little too close." She held out the steel box; the last couple of inches were gone, cut off with mirror-smooth edges, revealing the foam plastic liner. "I don't think your wands were damaged." She dialled numbers on the lock and opened the box, then stepped back. "Okay. You guys want to help yourselves?"

Harry grabbed his wand, and gave it a trial flick; "Avis!" A small flock of twittering birds appeared and flew off.

"Neat!" said Kennedy. Percy and Bury found their own wands and tried them a little less flamboyantly, as the Aurors approached cautiously from behind their own wards.

"Okay," said Harry. "Let Percy do the talking, and… umph!!" Suddenly Ginny was hugging him, and for a while he forgot all about talking.


	16. Castle Anthrax

"…and that's what things are like in there," said Harry.

"It sounds like Castle Anthrax," Hermione joked. "You know, in the Python film; a castle full of young women, all throwing themselves at you."

"Not exactly." Harry gestured towards Kennedy, talking on her cell phone again nearly three hours after they'd left the castle. "She's gay, so is their most powerful witch, and most of them are scarily strong, especially the demon god or whatever she really is. And all of them looked at me like I was pond slime because they thought I was trying to steal the body. About the closest I came to women throwing themselves at me was when they were trying to capture me the second time we escaped."

"That's all right then," said Ginny. "Wouldn't want to get the idea you'd been enjoying yourself."

"Not much chance of that. If I'd realised how much trouble moving one body would cause…"

"Anyway," said Hermione, "What about the Slayer Curse?"

"They all say that there isn't one," said Percy, "and I ran some diagnostic spells as soon as I got my wand back. We'd need someone like Bill to be absolutely sure, but so far if she _is_ cursed it's undetectable. And everything they told us about the original line of Slayers and the activation of multiple Slayers sounded consistent. They gave us some facts we can check; for example, they claim that there were a large number of demon attacks on Muggle girls four to five years ago. I've put some people onto it, but it does sound like a text-book case of Mystic Destiny."

"Blast. I was hoping to get my post-graduate thesis out of it if it was a curse. Mystic Destiny is almost impossible to prove, and so vague that it's really hard to get papers peer reviewed properly."

"Not this time," said Percy, "not much doubt about someone that strong."

"That's true." Hermione brightened.

"What I can't figure out," said Harry, "is how the American wizarding schools missed their witch. She's Muggle-born, as far as I can tell, but pretty powerful."

"Did you ever wonder why Muggle-born witches and wizards aren't more common?" asked Hermione.

"Not really, but I'm sure you're planning to… Oi!" Ginny had dug her elbow into Harry's ribs, and it hurt.

"Most pure-blood and half-blood wizards and witches are exposed to magic in the first few years of life; it tends to trigger the development of their talent. Muggle-borns rarely have that early exposure; without it their magic tends to appear later in life, or doesn't appear at all. I was lucky, there was a wizarding family in one of the other flats, and I can remember a few odd things happening when I was a kid."

"The same thing happened to my mother," said Harry. "She knew Snape when they were children."

"There you go then. The late starters are sometimes overlooked by our detection spells, and unless they do something really obvious they never come to our attention, because most of our ways of spotting illegal use of magic actually respond to wand use. It's different once people are in the system, but outsiders without wands would have to be really blatant before they got noticed, even if they wanted to be. And that essentially locks them out of our community."

A Ministry messenger appeared with a 'crack' a few yards away, and gave a scroll to Percy. He read it and looked a little confused. "Okay. The Minister had another word with the Muggle Prime Minister, apparently he does know about this Watcher's Council. He thought that we did too."

"He's only been in office a few months," said Hermione, "and from the sound of things this mess started a lot earlier."

"You got that part right," said Kennedy, snapping her phone closed.

"You've found something?"

"A lot of our files were destroyed a few years ago, but there's a reference to a treaty and the Ministry of Magic in some stuff from the nineteenth century. Our guy is following it up now, says he thinks he knows where the treaty would have been kept. But it'll take at least a day to retrieve it."

"So what do we do while we're waiting?" asked Harry.

"I don't know about you," said Kennedy, "but I'm going back to the castle. And no, I'm not handing out invitations until this thing gets settled."

"That sounds reasonable," said Percy.

"And it means you don't have to keep your guys watching me, I'm sure they've got better things to do."

"How will we know when you get the documents?" asked Hermione.

"Our guy says he'll make the arrangements with the Prime Minister, he can talk to your Minister."

. . . . .

As Kennedy ran back through the wards she was not alone. Clinging to her back, a large beetle with spectacle-like markings was determined to be the first reporter to get the real story on the Curse of the Slayer. She flew off once she was sure she was safely inside, buzzing around the castle for a while and looking for signs of unusual activity. There were young women everywhere, and most of them seemed to be armed with Muggle weapons. She listened in on their conversations, noting down a few names; Boyonce, Avril Lavigne, Justin Timberlake… No doubt they were agents of whatever conspiracy was responsible for cursing so many women. Occasionally someone mentioned the situation, and "those weird guys with the wands and broomsticks," but she still wasn't getting a clear picture. Everyone seemed to think that someone called Willow would handle things.

She found a quiet corner of the castle, resumed her human form for a moment to make some notes and cast a Point Me spell, then returned to her beetle form. For now the wand was part of one of her legs, and was pointing her towards the nearest person named Willow. It took her along one corridor, then another, up a flight of stairs, then under a door and through a study to another door, which was open just a crack. Into a bedroom, and a bed where Kennedy was making love to another woman, a redhead who for once didn't look anything like a Weasley. "All right!" she thought "Great headline, 'Castle of the Cursed Lesbians'!" She watched for a couple of minutes, but there wasn't a lot of talking going on, and she had the impression that there wasn't going to be for some time. Out again, time to do more exploring. She could find Willow again later.

. . . . .

"I've got something on Quentin Travers," said Percy, poring over the old files that Ministry couriers had delivered from London. "Old pureblood family, he was their first squib in three or four generations. They disowned him, of course, made him go to a Muggle school and university, after that he lived as one of them. He wasn't even interviewed when the Ministry was looking for Durward, they assumed that a squib wouldn't know anything."

Hermione muttered something about "pig-headed idiots."

"Durward must have got him a job with the Watcher's Council," said Harry, "so that between them they controlled the Council's access to the Ministry. After that Durward must have covered his tracks at the Ministry, and destroyed our records of the Council, maybe obliviated a few people's memories. People knew that he was in the Department of Mysteries, but nobody knew what he did there. I suppose that everyone assumed that someone else knew."

"And Quentin must have done much the same sort of thing in the Council," said Hermione, "but without any magic he can't have done such a good job of destroying their records. I suppose Durward helped with memories."

"It all sounds plausible," said Ginny. "Is there any proof that Quentin knew what Durward was up to? He might have been a dupe. Either way, why did they do it?"

"Maybe Durward thought that Voldemort could use the Slayer in some way," said Percy, "or maybe he just wanted to keep the Council out of things. They knew about magic and demons, but they had access to Muggle resources too, they could have been a problem."

"Spike said that they had access to Muggle military resources," said Harry. "And there was something about helicopter gunships." Only Hermione seemed to understand what he was talking about, so he started to explain.

. . . . .

Rita flew down again, and into a gymnasium where a dozen or so teenage girls were practicing some sort of ritual, which seemed to involve long periods of meditation followed by sudden explosive movements. Another red-headed woman seemed to be leading the class, demonstrating the moves by punching and kicking through heavy wooden blocks. How were they doing that? Rita couldn't sense any magic. It must be part of the Slayer Curse. After a while it got boring.

There was an open window, and she flew out into a courtyard where an odd blue-haired woman wearing a red leathery costume was tending to what she could only assume was some sort of invisible animal. If she squinted hard… not easy for a beetle… she could see the shadowy outline of a horse... no, two horses. They must be the thestrals the undertaker had mentioned. She landed on one of the animals' back, making sure that she was well clear of its tail, and took a look at the blue-haired woman. Not just blue hair; blue-tinged skin and crystalline blue eyes. Terrified, Rita realised it must be the demon that Percy Weasley had mentioned. Before she had time to react a black-gloved hand shot out and captured her, surprisingly gently, and brought her up to inhuman eyes for a closer inspection. The creature stared at her for a moment then opened its mouth, revealing perfect white teeth, and prepared to bite. At the last second Rita remembered to apparate out, vanishing from the demon's hand and reappearing a few yards away, then flying off at her top speed. The demon didn't follow; it stared at its fingers for a moment and looked around, shrugged, then went back to tending to the thestrals.

. . . . .

As dusk started to fall Percy went off to brief the press again; there was still a lot of interest in the story, even though there were no hostages apart from the thestrals and the body. He was surprised that Rita Skeeter wasn't around to ask any awkward questions, but assumed that she was back in London, writing her usual tissue of lies and half-truths for the Prophet. As he answered the last question another messenger arrived, with another scroll from the Minister: "Treaty found, will arrive tomorrow noon with Muggle VIPs. Please have full security in place."

Percy guessed that the main VIP must be the Muggle Prime Minister, and shrugged. There might be a few wizards who were actually interested in Muggle politics, but he doubted it. Nevertheless orders were orders; for all he knew one of the reporters was secretly a member of the Conservative Party, or some other extremist group, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to take precautions. He wrote several scrolls and sent them off to the Ministry and the Auror offices in Glasgow.

Harry borrowed Hermione's phone and called Dudley, got a list of four schools that matched the description he'd given him three days earlier, and pretended that the information was still really useful. There was no point telling him it had been a complete waste of time. The information might have been useful if they hadn't been steered to the school by Spike, and one day Dudley might actually know something important.

An hour later Harry and Ginny went to one of the luxurious tents Percy had provided, played with their children, then settled down for an early night. Hermione spent most of the evening poring over the papers with Percy, and sent an owl to her fiancée Ron. Bury busied himself filling out an expenses claim, running to a foot and a half of parchment.

In the castle Rita was getting hungry. She could smell something, probably some Muggle food, of course, but even to a beetle it was appetizing. She followed the scent back and around the building, and down to a kitchen where several girls were preparing a meal. It wouldn't be easy to resume her human form and steal a portion without anyone noticing.

As she scouted the kitchen she noticed something, a beautiful violet light high on one of the walls. It was gorgeous, perhaps the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen. She felt an irresistible compulsion to fly closer, closer, until she could see nothing else. There were metal bars in the way, a tight fit for such a large beetle, but she squeezed through, and onwards until the light was everything, was all that she could see, all that mattered…

There was a loud 'crack' and a faint smell of burning. One of the Slayers on kitchen duty looked up for a moment and thought that it was really high time that someone cleaned out the bug zapper.


	17. The Secret Keeper

At 11.30 the next day Percy inspected his men and decided that things seemed to be more or less under control. The press corps were ready to see the Minister arrive, Aurors were guarding the perimeter to make sure that nobody unauthorized got into the area, and had already relocated and obliviated four groups of hikers, and Harry and Hermione were ready to help explain things as needed; Hermione had no official status, but was the best expert on Muggle affairs Percy could find at short notice. Ginny was there as an interested onlooker.

Around the same time the Aurors watching the castle noticed several women gathering in front of the entrance, and guessed that they'd somehow received word of the arrival; all Muggle and magical communications links were supposed to be blocked, and Percy wondered how they knew. Perhaps it was divination, or some new Muggle trick the spells couldn't counter. Or possibly Kennedy had been told when to expect company.

A few minutes before twelve more Aurors apparated in, and one of them moved to a clear area and cast a spell. A huge glowing letter H appeared in a circle on the ground, about thirty feet wide.

"What on earth's that for?" Percy tried to work out the magical meaning of the symbol. "Hogwarts?"

"Helicopter," said Hermione. "Maybe the Prime Minister doesn't want to be apparated."

"Not a gun-shop, I hope."

"Gunship. I doubt it, not if the Ministry knows it's coming. Anyway, Muggle military helicopters don't usually have an escort riding brooms." She pointed south. "And they aren't usually painted bright red." There was a distant roar of powerful engines.

"Could be red for danger," said Percy, spotting the helicopter and its escort, about half a mile away.

"Don't be a pillock."

"You'd all better come with me to meet it," said Percy, "the Minister's bound to want a photo with you. Shame Ron couldn't make it."

"Stay back until it's landed, the rotor blades can take your head off if you get too close."

"Rotor blades?"

"The things whizzing round on top."

The huge helicopter landed, the blades slowly whirring to a halt. There wasn't much risk of decapitation; they were well above head height. One of the Aurors waved his wand, and a roll of red carpet appeared below the helicopter's main door and unrolled towards them, as the door opened and some steps extended down to the ground. "That's laying it on a bit thick," said Harry, "I know the Prime Minister's important, but…"

"Harry," said Hermione, discreetly pointing to the people climbing down from the helicopter, "that isn't the Prime Minister."

"Oh Merlin," said Percy, "what on earth do I say to her?"

"I think that 'Your Majesty' is supposed to be a good start."

. . . . .

"…and this, of course, is Harry Potter," said the Minister for Magic.

"Your Majesty," said Harry, trying desperately to think of something to say, "It's an honour to meet you… I'd like to introduce my wife, Ginny, and this is Hermione Granger."

"I've heard of all of you, of course," said the Queen, "I've always regretted that the Statute of Secrecy prevents me from acknowledging your service to the country."

"I must admit," said Hermione, "that I never quite realised…" she tried to think of a tactful way of putting it.

"That I was aware of the activities of witches and wizards?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Who did you _think_ was the Secret Keeper for your community?"

"I don't quite understand, your Majesty," said Harry.

"Did you really think that every slip every witch or wizard makes was instantly detected and repaired? If all of your Aurors worked every minute of the day people would still start to notice. But you remain a secret, because the… ah... Muggles are sometimes unable to see what is under their eyes. That spell requires a Secret Keeper who is not protected by it; for centuries it has been one of the duties of the Crown. Without it war would be inevitable. Even Voldemort never dared to tamper with it, if he ever knew that it existed. And of course similar protections were extended to the Watcher's Council, in the light of their service to mankind."

"It's odd that they don't teach us about it," said Harry. "I'm afraid that they never really mentioned the Crown at Hogwarts."

"With that sort of spell," said Hermione, "the more people who know how it works, the more likely it is to go wrong. They must have decided it was safer to leave it out of the syllabus."

"Perhaps it's for the best," said the Queen. "Now, if Mister Giles and the Minister are ready, perhaps we'd better go inside. I think that there's a treaty that needs to be renewed, and some problems to be ironed out.

"I'll just need a moment," said the tall stranger – Giles – who was apparently representing the Watcher's Council. He walked over to the wards, waved and whistled loudly to attract attention, then made a throat-cutting gesture with his hand. There was a short pause; then with a soft 'twang' the defensive wards vanished. The carpet started unrolling again, stretching out until it reached the main doors.

"Very well," said the Queen. "If you would all accompany me let's see if we can settle this before things get out of hand."

. . . . .

"I'm inclined to think that Quentin Travers was ignorant, not corrupt," Giles examined the folder that held the treaty, and the record card that tracked its movements from the archives at Buckingham Palace. "The last person to request access was Margaret Thatcher, in the early eighties. There's no evidence that Travers ever looked at the treaty, and if he was anything, he was a scholar. If he knew it existed he would have read it, even if he intended to ignore it. He should have certainly seen to renewing it when it expired in ninety-five. Long before then he should have offered our help to your Ministry, or the Ministry should have requested it."

"I'm not sure how your people could have helped against Voldemort," said Harry. "Your Slayers don't seem to be much more immune to magic than anyone else, they seemed to recover a little faster but that wouldn't stop the Killing Curse. And didn't you only have one Slayer then?"

"I think that the _variety_ of magical tools at our disposal might have been useful. Even in the nineties we knew of vengeance demons, Voudons, Chaos Mages, and other magicians who could have made life very difficult for him without ever coming near him."

"And we might have been able to help with tracking them down," said Dawn. "In those days there were hundreds of Watchers, if they'd been briefed properly they might have been able to give you a lot of help."

"That was then." Kingsley Shacklebolt steepled his fingers. "And while historically there has been a treaty, we need to decide if it's relevant under today's circumstances. Might it not be better to reorganise your organisation under the wing of the Ministry?"

"I think not," said Giles, "and I would imagine that the Queen thinks not, since she has taken the time and trouble to arrange this conference. Looking at the wording of the previous treaty, it's clear that the Council was originally expected to act as an external check on excesses by the Ministry, if they affected people outside your community; for example, if the Minister was possessed or replaced by a demon and started to have… um… Muggles executed. Similarly, your representative is supposed to act as a check on the Council. Consolidating the organisations would remove those checks."

"Just out of interest, what would you do if you did feel that the Ministry was behaving oddly?"

"Whatever was felt to be necessary." Giles didn't elaborate. After a moment Shacklebolt blinked and turned his attention back to the papers he was reading.

"There obviously does need to be some mechanism to avoid conflicts of interest," said Percy. "We've seen proof of that in the last few days. Perhaps we should look at renewing the existing treaty on a short-term basis, with minimal changes to reflect the current condition of your organisation, and settle the immediate problems right away; in the long term more sweeping changes would probably be needed, but that ought to give us some breathing space."

"That works for me," said Kennedy, "and I guess the other Slayers will go along with it if we have more representation at the next round of negotiations." Giles nodded his agreement. After a moment Shacklebolt followed suit.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief, and wondered how things were going outside the conference room.

. . . . .

"So you're a vampire, are you?" said the Queen.

"Since 1880, ma'am," said Spike.

"Did you ever meet Queen Victoria, or any of my other predecessors?"

"The old Queen visited my school when I was a boy, but I'm afraid I was well at the back, didn't really see much. And I was in the crowd on the night of her Golden Jubilee celebrations, of course, but about all I saw of her then was her carriage. After that I was overseas, so I'm afraid I never met any of the others. You don't really see much of society when you're a vampire."

"What a shame," said the Queen.

"There was Dracula, of course, but you couldn't exactly call him royal…"

. . . . .

"So we don't have to worry about helicopter gunships?" said Harry.

"You really shouldn't take Spike too seriously," said Dawn, "especially when he's trying to con you. We do have a couple of helicopters, but they're just used for transport. We don't even have the machine guns that the Council's mercenaries used to use; LAPD confiscated them a few years ago."

"And military aid?" asked Shacklebolt.

"We've got some contacts, but they've got their own duties. For a while we were nearly at war with the US Army, but that turned out to be the usual sort of demonic cult thing, once we'd exposed them things got back to normal. Don't worry, we're not going to start using tanks on you." Shacklebolt and Percy looked blank.

"I'll explain later," said Harry.

"Moving on," said Percy, "there's the matter of the body."

"It stays here." Kennedy gestured towards a picture of Kendra on the wall, one of a dozen small portraits with black borders. "Most of the people she knew when she was a Slayer come here from time to time, and they'll all want to visit. There's another reason, of course; there's a black market in Slayer bodies, and some goddamned nasty spells they can be used for, she needs to be kept from that."

"Mister Dumbledore won't be pleased," said Shacklebolt.

"Perhaps he could come here for the funeral," said Harry. "It isn't really that far, and once he knows where it is he could apparate any time he wanted to visit."

"And that way he'd get to meet Rona," said Dawn, "she's Kendra's third cousin, or something like that, and she should be flying in tomorrow. She must be related to him too."

Shacklebolt nodded. "Let's provisionally agree to that, subject to mister Dumbledore's consent. Now, was there anything else?"

"Let's see," said Percy, looking through his scroll. "We've agreed to waive all charges re the… um… incidents over the last few days, we're postponing discussion of demonology and other Dark Arts until we hold the next round of talks, that just leaves… oh yes, a rather large compensation claim from mister Bury, and deciding on the date and venue of the next meeting."

"Oh joy," muttered Harry.

. . . . .

"I wonder how they're getting on in there," murmured Hermione. "I wish we'd agreed four people for each side in the negotiations, I'd love to sit in on it."

"Same here," said Willow, "but it should be okay unless they've killed each other and nobody noticed. But I don't think it's likely."

"At least she seems to be enjoying herself." Ginny nodded towards the Queen, who was having an animated conversation with Illyria in the courtyard. Their conversation mostly revolved around the habits of thestrals, with occasional jumps into horsemanship, botany and comparative religion. The Aurors assigned to protect her watched nervously.

Harry caught up with them a while later, as the Queen was watching some of the Slayers in a martial arts class. He bowed, and said "Your Majesty, the Minister asked me to inform you that we've drawn up a provisional agreement, including a timetable for discussion of a permanent treaty. They'd like to present it to you for your signature."

**Epilogue**

Kendra was buried beside the castle three days later. Thanks to another emergency treatment by Mervyn Lloyd it was an open casket ceremony; thanks to some fast tailoring by Gladrags, Aberforth looked almost respectable for a change. Harry and Percy represented the Ministry, with Ginny and Hermione along to keep them company. For the first time they met the original Slayer, Buffy Summers, just arrived from Cleveland. Kendra was buried with a sword, bow, arrows, and stakes, as befits a Slayer.

Rona and Aberforth met, but unfortunately Rona turned out to be allergic to goats, which tended to make family meetings difficult.

Bury eventually took his thestrals and hearse home. His compensation paid for another hearse and led to an eventual expansion of his business to cover the whole of the mainland United Kingdom.

Kennedy and Willow were married in a Civil Partnership ceremony in October.

Harry and Ginny's daughter Lilly was conceived in a tent in Scotland and born in 2008.

In January 2008 Luna Lovegood published her first book, "In Search of Fantastic Creatures," with an introduction by the God-King Illyria. An edited version of her account of the creation of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack has since been printed in several anthologies and in 2009 won the Hugo award for best short-form science fiction story.

Percy is now the Ministry of Magic's liaison with the Watcher's Council, in addition to his other duties, and a final version of the treaty between the organisations should be ready some time in 2012.

Despite extensive enquiries Rita Skeeter's current whereabouts are unknown.

**End**


End file.
